


So Comes Love

by i_feel_electric



Category: Big Bang (Band), GTOP (Band), K-pop
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bullying, Drama, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Homophobia, Light Angst, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-01-07 08:04:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 74,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1117495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_feel_electric/pseuds/i_feel_electric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jiyong is 17 and at war with himself and the world. He can count the things that matter to him on one hand: his sister Dami and his job at the 24hr diner down the street from their apartment. Everything else is a waste of time; a waste of energy, a waste of breath. But then this kid, this strange, annoyingly persistent boy, has to come along and screw it all up...leaving Jiyong with a choice he never really wanted to make.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've labeled this with "graphic depictions of violence" just to be on the safe side. There are lots of fistfights.

“Fucking pussy, you throw punches like a girl,” Jiyong spat, massaging his jaw.

“Wanna see how big my dick is, fag?” The dark-haired boy grabbed at the baggy crotch of his faded blue jeans. “You'd love that, wouldn't you.”

Victor Perez, one of the wannabe thugs from his seventh period English class, was pissing him off again. The kid thought he was so hard, with his crew of idiotic misfits who all looked like they'd been cloned. Bandanas and snap-backs, gold chains, fake diamond encrusted earrings and chunky, silver watches. They were all utterly ridiculous. And Victor, who talked so big and yet was so so small, was an irritating thorn in his side. Until now, they'd never come to blows. Usually they just hurled insults with the intent to rile. But it had only been a matter of time. Jiyong wasn't the type to sit around twiddling his fucking thumbs while some annoying piece of shit tried to tear him down. His record of suspensions was proof of that.

He sneered. “I bet your dick is smaller than my pinkie.”

“Why don't you come over here and find out, asshole.”

Jiyong lunged forward, pinning Victor's meaty arm to his back until he released a miserable whimper. They were in the parking lot behind the school, not far from the football field, which meant they'd probably get caught if they drew this out. The lunch bell hadn't rung yet, at least. Twisting the boy's arm a bit tighter, Jiyong brought his mouth to his ear.

“You do not want to  _fuck_  with me, Perez,” he growled as he squeezed the thick wrist in his grip. “I will snap your arm like a fucking twig.”

“Like hell you will,” Victor ground out between clenched teeth.

And then the boy lifted his leg and kicked backwards, directly into Jiyong's kneecap. He shouted, letting go of Victor's arm and stumbling away, but Victor was on him again in seconds. The pain flared, angry and hot under his skin. Jiyong didn't have the chance to give it any consideration though, because the boy's heavy fist was flying into his stomach. Grunting, he doubled over and gasped for air. Another punch connected with the side of his face and his left eye exploded. Bright, sparking fireworks of agony. His head vibrated as blood surged loudly in his ears.

“Not so tough now, are you Kwon?” Victor sniffed and cracked his knuckles, preparing for another hit.

Jiyong never let him have it. He yelled, barreling towards the boy even though it hurt like a motherfucker, and landed a solid punch to his jaw. Victor went down with a soft moan, falling to the pavement like a pile of bricks.  _Fucker_. He coughed, touching his cheekbone delicately, and the pain blossomed and throbbed behind his eyeball. Already Jiyong could feel it swelling.

Touching it again, he hissed. “Goddamnit.”

The bell signaling the end of fifth period rang loud and shrill in the bowels of the building as he hobbled towards one of the side entrances, leaving Victor to moan like a baby on the ground. Someone would come for him eventually when he didn't show up in class and Jiyong definitely wasn't about to stick around to find out who. So he shuffled along the perimeter of the school, limping up concrete steps and crumpling into an awkward sitting position against the wall. His knee twinged and he grimaced. It didn't seem too busted, luckily; he knew what that felt like. An agitated sigh pushed its way past his lips and he dug into the front pocket of his jeans for his cigarettes, lighting one and inhaling deeply. The smoke curled over his tongue and it tasted like heaven. Jiyong closed his eyes, one hand scrubbing over the bristled texture of his shaved head, and he forgot about the pain for a little bit.

Serenity was depressingly short-lived however, because two minutes later the door slammed open and Jiyong jerked up from his slouch, knocking his elbow into the gray stone. He bit his lip to hold back a cry, wincing.  _Jesus fuck, ow_. And when he looked up there was another student on the stairs. A boy he'd seen around but couldn't place.

“You know this school has a no smoking policy, right?” The other boy asked, voice surprisingly deep and tinged with boredom. He pulled himself onto the ledge of the stone railing, legs swinging.

Jiyong squinted up at him and took a drag from the cigarette clutched in his fingers. Was he a senior? He couldn't remember. The kid was tall and sort of gangly; limbs long, shoulders broad. The short sweep of his bangs poked out from underneath the beanie on his head. His thin, black hoodie and nondescript gray jeans gave nothing away. He wasn't a jock, he wasn't a nerd; hippie, band geek, art kid, burn out, metalhead, hipster. Whatever the stereotypes were this boy wasn't any of them. And it bothered Jiyong that he couldn't categorize him on sight.

“Do I look like I give a shit about school policy?” He muttered, ashing on the concrete.

“No, you look like you just had your ass handed to you, though.”

Snorting, he let his arm dangle over the knee that wasn't fucked up, inhaling more sweet, curling smoke. Jiyong studied the boy, trying to read where he fit in the black circles of his almond-shaped eyes.

“It's nothing.”

The boy nodded and rummaged around in the pouch of his sweatshirt. “Right.”

When he pulled out a crumpled pack of Marlboro reds, Jiyong started laughing, head tipped back against the wall.

“What?” The kid smirked and tucked a cigarette between his teeth.

“ _School policy_.”

“I was just making conversation.” He shrugged, flicking his lighter. “My first thought was to ask if you were okay, but I didn't want to piss you off.”

Jiyong's brows drew together, mouth slanted in a half-smile. “Why would that piss me off?”

He watched a pink tongue dart out to lick equally pink lips as the boy stared at his hands. Was he nervous? Jiyong wasn't sure. Not many people had the balls to approach him, let alone speak more than a few anxious words.

“You've got a bit of a reputation.”

“Ah.” He nodded once, tossing the butt of his cigarette into the grass. “Yeah.”

There were several beats of silence and Jiyong closed his eyes again, relishing the cool Autumn breeze on his bared arms and the slight warmth of afternoon sun. He listened to the warbling chirp of a bird in an oak tree next to the building; the subtle, whooshing exhale of the smoking boy next to him. His skull was still throbbing. Fuck, he needed painkillers.

“Aren't you gonna go to the nurse?”

“Nurses ask questions,” he murmured, bending his knee with a gentle hiss.

“I'm asking questions.”

Jiyong's mouth curved again and he glanced over to find the boy watching him, intense and curious.  _Let him be curious_.

“You're not gonna get me suspended.”

The other boy huffed softly, both of his thick eyebrows raised. “You have a point.”

With careful movements, he lifted himself up from the landing and stood, testing out his leg by transferring his weight from one foot to the other. Then Jiyong stretched, popping stiff joints. He'd survive. His shift at the diner would probably be hell later, but he couldn't afford to miss work when rent was due in less than two weeks.

“I'm Seunghyun, by the way.” The boy offered him an elegant hand and Jiyong ignored it.

His lips twitched. “Good for you.”

Gripping the metal handle of the door, he swung it open and stepped inside without waiting for what would most likely be Seunghyun's wounded response.

Friends were a luxury Jiyong had lost a long time ago. And now that he was the equivalent of dog shit on the shoe of social hierarchy, no one would touch him. Which suited him just fine because he didn't have the patience for juvenile, teenage power-plays anyway. He shoved his hands in his pockets and sighed, the sound of his boots echoing in the empty hallways as he passed rows of lockers and bustling classrooms.

Though if there was one person in this over-sized prison cell that he would call a friend, it was Colin. Colin worked in the school's cafeteria; twenty-eight, Irish, failed musician, obsessed with coffee. They'd met after the third fight Jiyong had ever gotten into when he was a freshman. Colin had found him, bloody and bruised in the men's bathroom, and dragged him directly into the kitchen to slap a bag of frozen peas over his black eye. As far as Jiyong was concerned, Colin was his nurse now. Because the older man never ratted on him and he never asked questions. Not meaningful ones, anyway, which is what mattered. Really all they did was talk about music and Jiyong liked him because he was funny and smart and kind of a dick to everyone else but him. A trait he was very happy they shared.

Rounding a corner, he ducked into the cafeteria, successful in his avoidance of suspicious gazes from any teachers or staff prowling the halls. Jiyong casually slipped in through the door of the kitchen and wandered towards the back. None of the other workers seemed to be around now that lunch was over. It reeked of old, burnt hamburger and grease and he wrinkled his nose. He should have been used to the revolting stench by now, though for some reason it still made him queasy.

“Col?” He called over the sizzle of deep-fryers.

Colin's accented reply drifted from the storage closet. “In here.”

A head of cropped, light brown hair poked out to greet him as he limped closer.

“Ooh, nice shiner, Jiyong.”

The man was doing inventory, wearing his usual uniform of torn jeans and a white t-shirt underneath his stained and yellowing apron. Colin was best described as “unconventionally handsome”, with thin eyebrows and a thin nose; wide-set eyes, a square chin, full lips, and pale skin covered in countless freckles. Those lips were currently parted in an affectionate grin that always made Jiyong feel a little warm. He forced himself not to roll his eyes only because it would inspire more sharp pain to burst from his eye socket.

“You've seen me in worse shape than this.” He smiled, folding his arms over his chest.

“True enough. I suppose you'll be wanting another pack of peas, then? Or maybe corn this time to spice things up a bit.” Colin waggled his eyebrows and Jiyong gave a short laugh.

“I'll take one of each, actually.”

There was a momentary glimmer of concern in Colin's dark, green gaze, but it faded and he tucked his clipboard underneath his arm as he went to the freezer. Jiyong restrained a sigh. The concern wasn't new, the older man was always worried about him. Though he never pushed. And Jiyong appreciated that. He didn't interact with very many people who didn't make him feel like he was being interrogated constantly.

“Who was the lucky idiot?”

“Victor Perez,” Jiyong muttered, hoisting himself onto one of the stainless steel tables.

Colin returned, two bags of frozen vegetables in hand, and cocked his hip against the hard, metal surface next to him. The man frowned.

“You mean the little shit that always tries to steal extra fries on Thursdays?”

He laughed as he brought one of the cold packs to his left eye, holding the other over his aching knee. Victor wasn't the sole french fry bandit in this school, however he was the only dumbass who got caught. Every single time.

“Yes, sir.”

Colin chuckled. “Well if you've got a black eye and a busted knee I'd hate to see what condition  _he's_  in.”

Jiyong lifted one of his shoulders in an almost shrug and stared vacantly at the floor. “I dropped him, eventually.”

The older man feigned an expression of serious disappointment, clucking his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

“You're off your game, Ji.”

“Screw you,” he grumbled, smiling despite himself, and kicked at Colin's leg. “Just give me the aspirin and go back to counting your potato chips, you fucking leprechaun.”

He received a hard thwack to the back of his head and his jaw fell open as he squeezed his eyes shut.  _Holy shit that hurt_. Jiyong groaned. His brain throbbed like it had splattered all over the inside of his skull.

“ _Ow_! Prick. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Christ, sorry,” Colin apologized amidst rolling, high-pitched giggles. “I forgot.”

He glared, pressing the bag of corn more firmly to the curve of his cheek. “No you didn't.”

“Guilty as charged.” The man snickered, collecting himself with a deep breath and left Jiyong to go fetch the bottle of aspirin he kept around just for him.

Sixth period merged into seventh, Physics and English respectively, and he sat there on the table until the frozen packs of peas and corn thawed. Colin let him be, and Jiyong let him work. Then he went home before the first bell of eighth period reverberated in the linoleum tiled halls. He wasn't really in the mood for education today. But when was he ever?

*

The apartment felt still and silent as Jiyong turned the lock behind him and crouched down to unlace his boots. Not that this was a surprise. It was early and Dami, his older sister, was working at the bookstore in town. They probably wouldn't see each other today. They didn't see each other most days, save for the few minutes he stole with her at the kitchen table before she left with the rising of the sun. Sometimes he would just be coming home from the diner, simultaneously exhausted and buzzing from all the coffee he drank during the weekend graveyard shift. And Dami would smile, soft and a little sad, as she scratched his head and kissed him on the cheek and made her way out the door. After the bookstore, she rode the bus directly to her second job four days a week; an ancient dive bar near the freeway. Even with both of them working so much, they barely avoided eviction at the end of every month because this town was too “nice” to be cheap. Would it ever get better? He fucking hoped so.

Jiyong's sigh echoed in the hall as he stood and drifted into the living room. He crashed into the lumpy, fraying recliner in the corner and wondered if his boss would bitch at him for getting another black eye. Their clientele weren't exactly the classiest bunch, but apparently his busted face was bad for business. Though he was pretty sure no one came there for the service. With a preemptive grimace, he prodded his cheek, and was relieved that it only gave off a dull throb. He should probably go check it out in the bathroom mirror. He was kind of too lazy.

Jiyong let his eyes roam over the cream-colored walls, over the few framed photographs and scattered knickknacks that Dami was so fond of collecting. Their apartment was a little run-down, a little shitty and too small for two people. But it had been home for the last six years and he refused to let that be taken away from them. Because it was everything he cared about. Sagging against the back of the recliner, Jiyong fished his cigarettes out and snatched the ashtray from the side table. He pulled his knees up, toes hanging off the edge of the seat. The first drag swirled in his lungs and he thought about never going back to school ever again. Thought about it always. Dami wouldn't let him, though. She wanted to see him walk across that goddamned auditorium stage in a cap and gown; would drag him across the stage herself if she had to. Jiyong's eyes slid shut. She was wasting her energy.

The sun began to sink behind the tops of the buildings and he had smoked almost all of his cigarettes. He'd have to get another pack on his way to work. Jiyong crawled out of the recliner, leaving the now brimming ashtray on the coffee table as he went into the bathroom. He flicked the light on and stepped in front of the mirror with a frown. His left eyelid was slightly puffy, the skin around it soft purple and a sickly yellow. Victor's punch had popped a blood vessel in his eye, making it look a lot more ghastly than it really was. His boss definitely wouldn't let this go without comment. He just hoped he didn't get fired. Jiyong scoffed,  _yeah right_. Like they weren't already desperate for help.

Stripping down, he showered, then got dressed in his bedroom. He pulled on a red long-sleeved shirt, his favorite pair of black jeans, and slipped his boots back on once he stood by the front door.  _Wallet, keys, dignity_. Jiyong turned the hallway light off and left.

*

Frankie's Diner was a twenty minute walk from their apartment complex on the East side of town. The interior, while having seen better days, was glossy in comparison to the state of the building itself; shiny teal vinyl and dark wood, art deco accents and retro stars under clear laminate at every table. A pocket of history left untouched by commercialism. There was even one of those kitschy cat clocks on the wall, the one with the roaming eyes and swaying tail. Occasionally, when business was slow, Jiyong would find himself staring at it, like he was possessed.

Pushing through both sets of glass doors, he spotted Anna hunched over the lunch counter instantly. She was hard to miss, what with her forever changing hair color and penchant for wearing neon. This week her angular bob was dark purple and Jiyong smirked to himself because now they would match. The young girl was reading a magazine, but when she heard the door chime, her head shot up; bright smile melting into an expression of horror.

“Oh my god,” Anna breathed.

Jiyong walked around the counter to stand beside her, pulling the magazine closer and pretending to be interested in the slick fashion ads as he flipped the pages without really looking.

“Why do you always act so surprised?” He asked, staring down at an article screaming about the newest trends in nail art.

“Because maybe I'm hoping one day you won't walk in here looking like you got hit by a bus,” she said, sounding upset that he was even asking. “Jesus, that looks painful.”

It was weird for him to have people in his life that cared. Aside from Colin and his sister, at least. He was too used to being invisible. Anna's friendship had been gradual and unexpected. He didn't make it a habit to get close to anyone, but her personality was so disarming; her kindness overwhelming and her affection abundant. He hadn't really had much of a choice.

She took him gently by the chin, forcing him to look at her. Jiyong sighed and moved away from the scrutiny of her warm, brown eyes, grabbing his black waist apron from the box under the register and tying it over his hips.

“It's not.”

Anna let out an incredulous snort, leaning back on the counter as she studied her fingernails. One of her perfectly plucked eyebrows arched as she glanced up at him.

“Frankie's gonna tear you a new one.”

“Let him.” Jiyong tucked his server pad into one of the pockets and shrugged. “It's not like he's gonna send me home, I'm the only one scheduled tonight.”

“Ji...” She wore an expression that verged on pitying.

That's what he hated most. The pity. He knew Anna meant well, but whenever he was on the receiving end of pity it resulted in that same rolling nausea he felt when he stepped into the school cafeteria's kitchen. He tossed her a warning glare.

“Anna, drop it. I'm fine.”

Raising her hands up in defeat, she scowled and returned to her fashion magazine, muttering an annoyed, “Okay, okay. Consider it dropped.”

Frankie did indeed tear him a new one, yelling at Jiyong in the back office until his grizzled face flushed red. It was the same goddamned song and dance. The old man wasn't telling him anything he didn't already know. Like the fact that Jiyong worked an illegal amount of hours for a minor and the last thing they needed was for someone to start prying because his employees looked like victims of domestic abuse. But Frankie also knew that he needed those hours. Or else he'd be up shit creek without a fucking paddle since no one else in this town would hire a seventeen year old fuck-up like him. And the complaints weren't unfounded, he knew this too. However, he  _was_  a hard worker and Frankie only got pissed because he didn't want his business to be shut down. He couldn't make any promises though and Frankie never fired him, so he figured he was safe.

Jiyong puffed his cheeks out, expelling a bored sigh as he eyed the cat clock's taunting Cheshire grin. Anna had gone home hours ago and he still had another two before he could do the same. It was almost midnight on a Tuesday which meant there were hardly any customers, just a middle-aged man in the corner booth reading the newspaper and two equally bored housewives chatting over a shared banana split. He should have brought a book with him, but he'd forgotten. And now he was doomed to wallow in his own thoughts for the rest of the night.

Thoughts that strayed to the unclassifiable boy from the stairs that afternoon. Jiyong rubbed at his head and pushed away from the counter to pour himself another cup of coffee. What was his name? Seunghyun? He tried to remember where he had seen him before, but nothing came to mind. Only that he was still kind of amused by the entire exchange. Because the rarity of someone intentionally talking to him without looking for a fight was something he'd grown accustomed to.

Jiyong wondered how often the boy escaped out the side entrance to sneak a cigarette.

He leaned forward, watching the galaxy of milk spiraling in his coffee cup, and allowed himself a tiny, wry smile. It was nice to know that he wasn't alone in behaving badly.


	2. Chapter 2

Every day following the fight with Victor was a waiting game. Jiyong knew, from experience, that it took more than just one solid punch to keep them from coming back. Either out of a desire to get even or just the need to see him suffer. Sometimes it was both. Because he was nothing; a smudge on the shiny, plastic bubble of suburban paradise. And he didn't deserve to win. Whatever that meant, anyway. Jiyong wasn't in it for the illusion of victory, he was in it for the sake of the fight itself. He let these morons crawl under his skin until he saw red. Until all he wanted was the rush of bone colliding with bone and the surge of blood in his veins. It didn't even matter if he was the one that got his ass kicked, he didn't care about status or dominance or any of that alpha male bullshit. He just liked feeling alive. And he liked feeling angry.

 

So when Victor attempted to corner him in the parking lot at lunch about a week later, flanked by four of his pathetic goons, Jiyong was more than ready.

 

“Too chicken-shit to fight your own battles, Perez?” he asked, back pressed against the cold, gray stone of the building and cigarette held in lazy fingers.

 

He was actually surprised it had taken him this long to retaliate. Especially since the insults hadn't stopped during their English class. Well, whenever Jiyong  _was_  in class, which wasn't often. He took a drag, wondering how much he'd have to let Victor talk before he could knock him out.

 

“No,  _princess_. They're just here to cheer me on while I fuck you up.”

 

Jiyong laughed, blowing smoke into Victor's round, unamused face.  _Oh, this should be good_.

 

“Y'know, I'm thrilled last time wasn't enough for you. Because now I get the opportunity to embarrass you all over again, and with an audience. You're so thoughtful.”

 

The boy scoffed, licking his lips and pretending that the condescending words hadn't ruffled his delicate feathers. But Jiyong could see the irritation in Victor's eyes; that burning  _need_  to snuff him out like a pesky insect. He let his gaze flit over the other kids, all of their faces contorted into some comical approximation of what they thought was “menacing”. He inhaled again.

 

Victor spat on the ground and cracked his knuckles. “I'm not the one who's gonna be embarrassed, Kwon.”

 

“We'll see about that.” Jiyong grinned, well aware that his cockiness would make the boy even more livid.

 

And fuck, did it ever. Before he could blink, one of Victor's meaty hands had his throat in its grasp as he was shoved roughly into the wall. Gasping, Jiyong pushed away from the building, but Victor swung his other fist into his stomach to subdue him.

 

“Not a chance in hell, you fucking fairy,” the boy growled, enraged features hovering inches from his.

 

The fist gripping his neck tightened and another punch landed in his gut. Jiyong groaned. Or tried to, since Victor seemed intent on crushing his windpipe. The pain itself was minimal but it was always a shock to his system and he felt it ripple out to throb faintly in the tips of his fingers. Fingers that were still holding onto a lit cigarette. Narrowing his eyes, Jiyong brought the cherry up and jammed it against Victor's temple. The resulting howl reverberated in his ears as the pressure on his throat vanished and he fell to his knees, coughing and wheezing. None of the asshole's friends seemed to know what the hell to do and all of Victor's screaming was drawing unwanted attention. Jiyong was several seconds away from getting a Timberland boot to the face when one of the gym teachers intervened, hurrying over from the football field.

 

Mr. Hendricks was more of a babysitter than a gym teacher, seeing as he was almost seventy and had bad joints. But this didn't stop the old fuck from sentencing every single one of them to detention on Saturday. Jiyong scowled. He'd have to find some way to get out of it. When Mr. Hendricks tried to help him up, he waved the man away with a few reassuring words. Like hell he was going to the nurse with these pricks. Victor stood there, cradling his head in one hand and glowering at Jiyong, the promise of another round clear in his darkened expression. Jiyong blew him a kiss from his position on the cement and released a choked giggle at the sight of Mr. Hendricks struggling to keep a seething Victor back. This was way too entertaining.

 

“See you later, sweetheart,” Jiyong called after them as they were escorted towards the main entrance, receiving a middle finger in reply.

 

He smiled to himself. Victor wouldn't go to the principal until he saw Jiyong bloodied by his own hand. In fact, when Victor went to the nurse, he would probably lie through his teeth about how he got injured. Because if he told anyone, Jiyong would be suspended again and then the fun would end.  _And we wouldn't want that, now would we?_

 

Shifting, he leaned against the wall, crossing his legs at the ankles. A raspy sigh escaped from his lips and he slipped a hand underneath his shirt to rub at his tender stomach. Jiyong supposed “fun” was a generous term. When he was younger, others singled him out because he was small and therefore weak. Inferior. An easy target. Now it was mainly because his preference for fucking boys made him  _other_. Something to be feared in the heteronormative universe that was alive and well in the Mid-West. Alive and well everywhere. Jiyong didn't fight back out of a deeply-rooted sense of injustice because he didn't give a shit if anyone knew that he was gay or not. He fought back for himself. And as far as his “identity” went, he wasn't anything. A brother, maybe, at best. Which is why it got boring after a while, fighting guys who viewed him as a threat to their sacred masculinity when really he just made them look too closely at themselves. And they didn't like what stared back.

 

Jiyong sighed again and toyed with the idea of hanging out at the side entrance to smoke one more cigarette before the bell rang. He hadn't seen that Seunghyun kid around since last week, it was like he'd disappeared or melted into the walls or some shit. Or maybe he was just oblivious. Jiyong often got lost inside of his own head when he was here, as a coping mechanism mostly. There was only so much rampant idiocy he could handle in a period of seven hours. If Seunghyun was a senior, it made sense that they wouldn't run into each other. But Jiyong had found himself on those stairs at the end of lunch every damn day. And for what reason? Another chance to gleefully dismiss the guy's attempts at being friendly? He rolled his eyes and got up to stand. He was done thinking about this.

 

Walking into the building, Jiyong made for the science wing to loiter outside of his Physics classroom. If he was going to stick around he might as well show up for once. Plus Dami was still mad at him for the black eye and if she heard that he'd been ditching class again, he'd have to endure her unending wrath for weeks.

 

She was lucky he loved her so much.

 

*

 

The rest of the afternoon passed slowly; each minute spreading thin until it seemed to last an entire age. Jiyong floated through his classes. He was there but he also wasn't. There was nothing they could teach him that he didn't already know or couldn't learn somewhere else and he hated it. High school was a punishment. An organized version of hell. Why his sister was so insistent that he roll over like a good little fucking puppy and play nice with the system was something he would never understand.

 

Actually, no, that was a lie.

 

Jiyong  _did_  know. He simply didn't agree. Dami's misplaced dedication to honoring their parents' memories wasn't a good enough excuse for him to suffer through this shit. The last thing Jiyong needed was another reason to resent them. Or the concept of familial obligation in general.

 

One hand shoved in his pocket, the other holding a cigarette, he walked home and let his thoughts unravel. School turned him into a brainless lump. Jiyong would have to drink copious amounts of coffee at the diner later to reverse the effects of the lobotomy. Right now, though...right now all he wanted was to keep floating. To imagine that he was composed of air and smoke and know that he had the freedom to fade into non-existence. Because sometimes that was so much more appealing than feeling alive.

 

When Jiyong arrived at the apartment, it was predictably empty. The air was growing colder as the warmth of the sun drifted behind trees and buildings and eventually the edge of the earth. So he showered, changed, and threw on an old hoodie. Standing in the kitchen, he stuffed a few mouthfuls of leftover pasta into his mouth without heating it up; the only sound his fork scraping against the bottom of the container. Jiyong couldn't remember the last meal he'd shared with Dami let alone the last conversation they'd had that was more than a few short minutes. He missed his sister. She was a pain in the ass, but she was  _home_. And he didn't get enough of that these days. With a jaw-cracking yawn, he put the food away and the fork in the sink, then slid his boots on. The book that he continued to forget was finally nestled in his pocket and he left, heading for Frankie's and what would inevitably be yet another uneventful night of work.

 

But life had other plans.

 

Before he could even get his apron tied around his waist, Anna was scratching his head with her glittery, silver nails in both greeting and farewell. She was skipping out on the end of her shift because she had a date with some guy that he'd almost definitely hear too many details about tomorrow. Jiyong didn't mind though, it was fucking dead anyway. Coffee pot clutched in his fingers, he made the rounds for refills at a shocking total of three tables. Though the last table actually  _was_  sort of shocking, because as soon as Jiyong stepped near enough he realized he recognized the individual sitting there and he came very close to letting the pot in his hand crash to the floor.

 

It was Seunghyun, in what he now assumed was the boy's typical uniform of beanie and black sweatshirt and fitted jeans. A notebook lay open on the table, full of messy, cramped handwriting and weird doodles. Jiyong hovered just behind his shoulder and discovered he was hunched over a book, totally absorbed in whatever it was he was reading. He cleared his throat, moving to lean against the backrest of the next booth.

 

“So, what, are you stalking me now?”

 

Seunghyun's head shot up and he appeared a little bewildered at first, like it surprised him that he was in a diner and not in the world of inked words on the pages in his hands. Jiyong fought the twitch in his lips because he knew exactly how that felt. When the boy registered who was speaking to him, his dark eyes went wide as the saucer underneath his nearly empty coffee cup.

 

“Uh...h-hardly,” Seunghyun stuttered a little, cheeks flushing a light pink as he collected himself. “I come here a lot.”

 

Jiyong's eyebrows knitted together and he studied the boy's face, taking in every detail this time. The thick eyebrows, the pierced ears, the wide nose, the bowed contour of his lips. He didn't miss the way his light pink blush deepened into dusky rose.

 

“I've never seen you around,” he said. He would have remembered that.

 

Those lips tugged upwards into a slight smile and Seunghyun's gaze lowered, long fingers bending the corner of one of the book's pages. “Because I'm not usually here this late. And I, um, I never sit in your section.”

 

Snorting, he couldn't stop his own smile. “On purpose?”

 

Seunghyun nodded without looking up.

 

“On purpose.”

 

“Huh.” Jiyong rubbed his chin, relaxing further against the backrest of the booth. “Should I be flattered or upset?”

 

“Flattered, I guess,” the boy mumbled and set the book down on top of his notebook, eyes darting to meet his and then away.

 

Whatever burst of confidence Seunghyun had experienced on the stairs last week was nowhere to be found now. He was nervous, obviously, and probably a bit taken aback that Jiyong had initiated this wonderfully stimulating exchange in the first place. Jiyong was a little taken aback too, actually. Because he continued to ask questions and he never did that; every word that came out of his mouth inspiring a fresh need to go out back and set himself on fire. Maybe Victor's choke-hold had killed one too many brain cells.

 

“What are you reading?”

 

“Roberto Bolaño.”

 

Jiyong's lips quirked. “The Savage Detectives?”

 

“I– yeah.” Seunghyun laughed softly, appearing delighted and perplexed and a bit awe-struck. “You...you know Bolaño?”

 

“Is that so hard to believe?”

 

“A little, yeah,” the boy confirmed, smile still pulling insistently at the edge of his mouth. “No offense, but you don't seem like someone who has much interest in books.”

 

“None taken. I'm pretty sure the entire student body would agree with you.” Jiyong heard the bell above the door jingle as a few kids walked in with their parents. He sighed and turned to Seunghyun, holding up the coffee pot. “Refill? I gotta get back to work.”

 

“Please. Thank you. Sorry for–“

 

“Don't worry about it,” Jiyong interrupted, swallowing a laugh.

 

Reaching across the table, he poured more of the strong brew into Seunghyun's cup and ignored the inquisitive gaze that roamed over his features as he did.

 

“Your um, your eye looks a lot better.” The boy spoke hesitantly, like he was afraid to even mention it.

 

Chit-chat time was over though and he could only offer Seunghyun a tight smile and a nod before walking over to seat the new customers. One of the younger kids, a boy of about six, stared unabashedly from underneath messy, blonde fringe as he distributed menus and took drink orders. Apparently “a lot better” wasn't that great. Jiyong knew the skin around his eye was still discolored and unsightly. But there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. He was fortunate that he hadn't received another one earlier today. The kid's father watched him, wary, and kept glancing away as if to look for other employees. Employees that weren't seventeen and got into fistfights. Jiyong made sure to lay the charm on extra thick just to see him squirm.

 

As he was filling hard, plastic cups with water and diet coke, the bell above the door jingled again. And when he looked up, he found Seunghyun standing on the curb outside lighting a cigarette. One fist was shoved in the pouch of his hoodie as he paced back forth along the edge of the cement, one foot directly in front of the other as though he was following the line of an imaginary tightrope. The glow of the sign above the diner cast strange shadows over his face; eyelashes seeming longer and skin turning golden. Soft. Everything about Seunghyun was...soft. Which gave him pause, because it meant he'd been paying attention. Jiyong went into a bit of a trance as he studied the boy's profile and the curve of his spine, wondering once more why he was so undefinable. And why he was even interested in defining him. Seunghyun confused him. Which was only fair, he guessed, since Jiyong basically confused everyone.

 

Drinks delivered, he propped his elbows on the counter and read his book while he waited for the nice little suburban family to peruse the menu. But his concentration strayed to the windows every few seconds. Jiyong frowned and forced himself to keep his gaze down. He rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck; let his palms glide over his shorn hair. The cat clock told him it was seven thirty.  _Only six and a half more hours to lose my fucking mind._  Rubbing at his eyes, he grabbed his order pad and walked back over to the table.

 

*

 

The hours ticked by and a handful of customers came and went. Except for Seunghyun, who rarely moved from his booth, alternating between reading and scribbling things down in his notebook. Jiyong refilled his coffee periodically and their gazes would connect for a beat or two before the boy would mumble his thanks and return to his written words. How it got to be one o'clock in the morning without his notice, he'd never know. And now Seunghyun was the last person left in the diner besides Leroy, the cook and the night manager, who Jiyong could hear humming in the kitchen while he washed dishes.

 

His book had gone untouched for most of his shift and he wondered why he'd felt so compelled to bring it with him. Much as he enjoyed working at the diner, the nights always seem to last twice as long. Jiyong studied Seunghyun from the corner of his eye. He'd been thinking about going over there for the last fifteen minutes. The register had already been counted down, the tables all wiped clean and set for the morning rush that wouldn't come until the sun crept up from behind the horizon. If Seunghyun wasn't here, Leroy would probably turn the radio on nice and loud, letting the oldies station replace the blanket of silence. Every now and then Jiyong would dance and sing along and feel incredibly stupid, but it was fun. And it made him forget, for a little while at least, about everything else.

 

Opening and closing his book three times, Jiyong gritted his teeth and stepped away from the counter.

 

“Isn't it past your bedtime?” He set the coffee pot down on the table and eased himself into the seat across from Seunghyun.

 

Wide brown eyes met his for a second time, the boy's hand stilling above the lined pages he'd been writing on. His question hung in the air unanswered and he slumped forward, chin in his palm. Jiyong's brow arched, which seemed to set Seunghyun in motion, pen falling from his loose grip.

 

“I uh...I don't really sleep,” Seunghyun sighed, leaning back into a slouch as he pulled his beanie off, ruffling his black hair. “And my parents wouldn't notice that I was gone. Or even care.”

 

Jiyong's gaze narrowed slightly. He hoped he wasn't about to get this kid's entire sad life story. But it wasn't like he had anything better to do. Seunghyun didn't seem inclined to share any more details though, still playing with his hair. The movement was distracting and he watched long fingers sift though short strands.

 

“Why do you work so late?” The boy's eyes honed in on him. “I mean, I know school isn't exactly your thing...”

 

“My  _thing_?” Jiyong laughed, surprised at the sound coming from his own lips. He scrubbed a hand over his face and glanced out the window at the only car in the parking lot; a beat-up silver Honda that must have belonged to Seunghyun. He was accumulating a hell of a lot of details for someone who wasn't supposed to give a shit. With a shrug, he muttered, “The rent won't pay itself.”

 

Seunghyun nodded, his scrutiny making Jiyong uncomfortable as that particular nugget was filed away with all the others. Looked like he wasn't the only one starting a collection. Why was he even sitting here? Why was he even bothering? Jiyong listened to Leroy start humming a new song in the kitchen and closed his eyes, exhaustion gradually creeping into every inch of muscle. He didn't need any more friends.

 

A quiet pause coiled around them then, but it didn't feel tense. And he was a lot less uncomfortable without those eyes boring into him like they were trying to dissect him piece by piece.

 

“What are you reading? Or not reading, as the case may be.” Seunghyun finally broke the spell, his deep voice soft and laced with amusement.

 

Jiyong's mouth curved because the other boy was apparently also skilled in the art of observation. “William Gibson.”

 

He heard his gentle huff of laughter and then the squeak of vinyl as he shifted in his seat.

 

“You're just full of surprises.”

 

Opening his eyes, he was hit with the full force of Seunghyun's avid gaze. Jiyong returned his stare. Out of curiosity. Out of a need to understand why this kid was so intent on knowing him. And also out of a need to understand why he was allowing himself to be even remotely candid.

 

“You have no idea,” he murmured wryly.

 

“Perhaps not...” Seunghyun tilted his head to the side as his cheeks started turning pink again. He dropped his gaze to study his hands where they lay in his lap. “But I– I'd like to.”

 

“Why?”

 

It was the one question he'd been waiting to ask since last week. The million dollar question. His somewhat endearing companion went very still and then melted against the fraying upholstery, mouth working to formulate his response.

 

“Uh,” the boy chuckled, almost embarrassed, as he buried his fingers in his hair again and tried to make himself look Jiyong in the eye. “Well, I don't know there's just...something about you.”

 

He restrained an incredulous laugh because this was ridiculous. And something being what, exactly? He wasn't a mystery to be solved or a puzzle to be put together. Jiyong's existence wasn't complicated and it wasn't fascinating. If Seunghyun thought he was some sort of fucking rebel, or anti-hero or  _bad boy_ , he would be seriously disappointed.

 

Hand sliding from his face to slap against the surface of the table, Jiyong allowed a tiny smirk. “I'll take your word for it.”

 

And with that, he dragged his tired limbs from the booth, done with playing the part of someone who was interested. Seunghyun, smart boy that he was, took the hint and went home right before Jiyong's shift was finished. And as he wandered towards the table to collect the check and the lone coffee cup, he spotted a crisp ten dollar bill sticking out from beneath the saucer.  _That little shit._  He laughed. Cackled, really. At Frankie's, drip coffee had bottomless refills and cost a whopping total of $1.50 per order. Seunghyun had tipped him an obscene amount of money, a  _ludicrous_  amount of money, for something so cheap. If that asshole thought he was doing Jiyong a favor, though, he was going to strangle him. Jiyong wasn't a charity case. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he swiped the money and the cup from the table and went about closing out his drawer for the night.

 

Despite his annoyance, he couldn't keep the corners of his lips from curling ever so slightly. Not when Heather and Viv showed up to take his place. Not when he walked home in the chilly, pre-dawn air, cigarette smoke curling around his head. And least of all when he unlocked the door of the apartment to find Dami sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea to keep her company.

 

“Finally,” she sighed, grinning widely and standing to pull him in for a back-breaking hug.

 

“Did you stay awake just for me?” Jiyong asked and burrowed closer, face pressed into the waves of her long hair. “You have to be up again in like, four hours.”

 

Dami withdrew, hands roaming over his head and his cheeks. “I wanted to see your beautiful face.”

 

He rolled his eyes and tipped forward to leave a kiss on her forehead.

 

“How are you?”

 

“Tired.” She gave a short laugh and sunk back into her chair, fingers bracketing her ceramic mug as she gazed at him with an abundant, glowing warmth. “You?”

 

Jiyong smiled and took the other chair. “Tired.”

 

“Have enough fight left in you for some ice cream?” Dami's eyebrows danced and it reminded him so much of Colin.

 

His smile grew and then vanished as he schooled his features and sniffed, giving Dami a sly sideways glance. “I always have fight in me.”

 

“That's  _right_ , how could I forget,” she drawled, sarcastic as ever. “My baby brother the delinquent brawler.”

 

“Ha ha, you're hilarious.” Jiyong scowled and kicked at her legs under the table. She stuck her tongue out and swatted at his shoulder. They were both so juvenile.

 

“Did you go to your classes today?” Dami asked as she stood and went to the freezer, grabbing a new carton of generic brand mint chocolate chip.

 

He groaned, flopping down to squish his nose against the surface of the table, arms haphazardly thrown wherever.

 

“ _Yes_ , mom.”

 

She smacked him, hard, on the back of the head and he yelled.

 

“Jesus christ, what?”

 

“You know what,” Dami spoke over her shoulder as she took spoons from the drawer next to the sink, tone low and admonishing.

 

Jiyong frowned into the table. Okay, that was shitty, even for him. But sometimes he really hated how much she had taken on the role of overbearing parent. Dami was his legal guardian but she was his sister first and foremost. It was never going to be different, not in his mind.

 

“Sorry.” He lifted his head as she handed him a spoon and reclaimed her spot beside him. “How was work?”

 

“Same as it always is.” Dami shrugged, jamming a spoonful of ice cream into her mouth. “I think we might be cutting it close this month.”

 

Chuckling, Jiyong took a huge chunk out of the carton and mumbled around his own spoon, “Then why the hell did you buy ice cream?”

 

“A moment of weakness.”

 

She winked at him, smirking. And for a while they didn't say anything else. Jiyong watched her, though, taking in the dark bags under her pretty eyes and the inward curve of her shoulders. This guessing game they played at the end of every month when rent was due and bills were due and whatever else decided to rear its ugly-ass head was stressing her out. It stressed him out too, but he could only pretend to know how she felt. Dami worked and did little else. There was the rare day when she could afford to take some much needed time to herself. Rare being the key word. And it wasn't enough. Jiyong still bore tremendous guilt for being the reason why she'd never finished her undergraduate studies. And why she was living half of a life. When he was feeling particularly maudlin, he imagined himself a thief, taking away her youth while he squandered his own. It always left a bitter taste on the back of his tongue.

 

“You should go to bed,” he murmured, placing the lid back on the carton and bringing the spoons to the sink.

 

“I'm already half-way there.”

 

Dami released a quiet sigh and wrapped her arms around him from behind. He closed his eyes, placing his hands over hers and linking their fingers together. She hugged him tighter.

 

“Night, Ji,” she whispered. “Love you.”

 

“Love you more.”

 

“Brat,” Dami said, giggling and poking him in the side.

 

With one last kiss to his cheek, she shuffled out of the kitchen and Jiyong didn't move until he heard the soft click of her door closing.


	3. Chapter 3

“Colin, I'm really nervous,” Jiyong muttered, pacing the length of the kitchen while the older man watched him from where was leaning against the wall.

 

“Jiyong Kwon,  _nervous_? I never thought I'd see the day.”

 

“Shut up, I'm serious,” he huffed, linking his fingers behind his head. “It's been two weeks and Victor hasn't made his next move yet.”

 

Colin crossed his arms over his chest and smiled, green eyes shimmering. He'd always been entertained by Jiyong's adventures in violence, even though he wished they'd stop. Of course, he never said anything because that would be pushing. But Jiyong knew that he wanted to; could read it in the carefully lilting tone of his voice.

 

“You make it sound like chess,” Colin murmured.

 

He scoffed, running his hands up over his head and then down his face as he groaned.

 

“It feels more like Russian Roulette.”

 

“What does Victor have against you, anyway?”

 

Jiyong shrugged, finally coming to rest on the wall opposite. His hands kept moving even though his feet had stopped, fingers fidgeting with the sleeve of his blue hoodie. “I dunno, I guess my preference for sucking cock offends him or something.”

 

He caught the way Colin's mouth twisted into a broad grin right before he doubled over with laughter. The man shook his head and sighed, guffaws dwindling to tiny giggles as he wiped at his eyes. Jiyong smirked and stared at his boots. He liked making Colin laugh.

 

“You...” the man breathed, still grinning, “are a piece of work, Ji.”

 

“I know.”

 

Jiyong huffed again, self-deprecating smile forcing its way onto his face. He knew all too well.

 

“And quit worrying so much, yeah?” Colin stepped away from the wall, moving closer to place a comforting hand on Jiyong's head. “He probably decided getting punched out again wasn't worth it.”

 

A small laugh bubbled up from his lungs. “I should be so lucky.”

 

Jiyong shook his head though, slipping out from under Colin's grasp to continue pacing. He shoved his sleeves up along his forearms. His mind was buzzing. “Victor's planning something, I can feel it. He doesn't even bait me in class anymore. It's fucking weird.”

 

“Jiyong, I bet it's nothing,” Colin assured but he felt none of it.

 

“People like him don't just  _give up_ , Col.” Heat was creeping into his voice, muscles tensing. “You didn't see the look in his eyes.”

 

“Hey now, drama queen. Calm down.”

 

“Asshole,” he growled, not without affection.

 

The older man chuckled and started taking off his apron, leaving to put it away in the break room, and Jiyong realized he'd probably been holding him up. Colin never told him to get out. He never told him to stay either, but not once in the three years that they'd known each other had Colin ever treated him as a nuisance. Jiyong couldn't pinpoint the reason why their friendship was so easy. There were times when the man felt like less of a friend and more of a brother and he sort of hated himself for getting so attached.

 

He turned and his gaze landed on the clock above the storage closet. It was already after four and he'd promised Dami that he'd pick up some stuff from the supermarket before he went to the diner.  _Shit._

 

“I gotta run.” Jiyong clapped him on the shoulder on his way towards the rear of the kitchen. “See you tomorrow, man.”

 

“Be safe, you crazy fuck.”

 

“Love you too, Colin,” he called, grinning as he slipped out the back door.

 

Sharp October air hit him right in the face and he shivered. Jiyong flipped his hood up, shoving his hands into his pockets, but he was still cold. He walked around the perimeter of the school and cut across the football field, vaguely aware of the cluster of students engaged in fall training. He heard the distant shouts of the players but he wasn't really listening. All he could think about was Victor. The prick and his punk-ass friends had been on their best behavior during detention days ago. And since then the other boy had hardly made so much as a fucking peep in English class. It really did make him nervous. Because there had been a vow in Victor's eyes before Mr. Hendricks dragged him away. A vow to destroy Jiyong; to see him beg for mercy. It had occurred to him that maybe Victor was trying to shake him up, make him paranoid. Which was kind of working. He didn't know what to expect anymore and it left him vulnerable.

 

Shivering again, Jiyong frowned. This was stupid. Victor had turned a casual fight over essentially nothing into some dramatic, overblown bullshit. Why couldn't these dumbfucks get over themselves already? It was starting to give him a headache.

 

His frown evolved into a scowl as he entered the grocery store parking lot. But he stopped, tapping the last cigarette from his pack to smoke before ambling inside. Jiyong lit the tip and inhaled, long and slow. More than anything he just wanted to be at work right now.

 

*

 

When Jiyong wasn't thinking about Victor, he was thinking about Seunghyun. Which annoyed the shit out of him because why was he wasting time wondering about someone he didn't even know. Someone who obviously wanted to change that fact. He didn't see the point. But the kid's vanishing act had his curiosity growing the longer he remained elusive. Jiyong never bumped into Seunghyun at school and only once had he spotted him at the diner. It had been a Sunday and the place was packed, he'd hardly allowed himself a moment to breathe let alone entertain the idea of talking to him. And true to his word, Seunghyun hadn't sat in his section; something that continued to amuse Jiyong immensely. He'd caught him staring a few times from the corner of his eye, though. And even the occasional soft smile as he covered the pages of his notebook in his cramped, messy scrawl. Seunghyun hadn't looked at him when he left an hour later, ducking out the front doors with his head bowed and hands jammed in the pockets of his coat.

 

Viv had walked over to him right after, presenting him with a small slip of paper. “ _That kid left this for you,_ ” she'd said, red lips spread in a teasing grin and amber eyes alight with excitement. “ _Someone's got a crush, Ji._ ”

 

Jiyong remembered the laugh that had shot from his mouth like a bullet when he held the paper up. It was a drawing; a caricature, actually. Of him. Seunghyun had sketched Jiyong in his white button-up and apron, pen tucked behind his ear and hands clutching overflowing pots of coffee as he was mid-dash in the middle of the diner. It wasn't perfect, some of the dark lines scratchy and uneven, but it was good. Funny.  _Cute_. He'd felt a slight blush warm his cheeks and Viv had just giggled and tweaked his nose like he was a little kid. Which, of course, had made him blush harder.

 

This resulted in confusing Jiyong even more than he already was because last he'd checked, you didn't get to know someone by avoiding them. Not that he wanted Seunghyun to know him. He just wanted to understand.

 

The faint sound of music coming from the kitchen, accompanied by Leroy's low humming, broke through the haze of his thoughts and he realized how late it was. Jiyong yawned at the counter, resting his head on top of his arms.

 

In conclusion: Seunghyun was bizarre. And he couldn't figure out how to deal with his inconsistent behavior. Mostly he tried to forget about it. Which was difficult because Viv had decided to pin the doodle on the wall next to the register and Jiyong constantly thought about throwing it away, but something wouldn't let him. His morbid curiosity, maybe. Jiyong sighed. He felt out of sorts. Seunghyun had thrown a wrench into the cogs of his life and he didn't like it, he liked things the way they were. Which didn't include strange boys who defied logic and drew adorable pictures of him and wanted to be his friend.

 

Heather trudged through the doors then, offering him a groggy smile and a pat on the head, and he removed his apron. Sleep sounded like the best idea ever and he couldn't wait to get home and crash into his bed. Jiyong left through the back doors this time, saying goodnight to Leroy with a wordless high-five. The stench of old grease wafted from the dumpsters and he tried not to gag as he zipped up his hoodie and hung a right through the alley next to the diner.

 

Tomorrow was another day. And maybe tomorrow would have some answers for him. But for now, Jiyong was going to march directly into his room and make sweet love to his pillows.

 

*

 

The next day, however, proved to be just as uneventful as the last and it had him on edge. Jiyong painstakingly endured every single one of his classes – much to the utter amazement of his teachers – and Victor continued to be well-behaved. It was driving him crazy. Because he knew it was all an act. And one day soon he would fucking snap if nothing happened. Shoulders hunched, Jiyong pressed the ridges of his spine against the brick wall of the bookstore downtown where his sister worked and watched the cars pass. He didn't make a habit of visiting often since bus fare was a luxury he couldn't afford. But he needed to see her. Even if they didn't say much, simply being on the receiving end of her smile was enough. Smoking the rest of his cigarette, he flicked it into the street and pushed his way inside.

 

Jiyong headed for the registers, zigzagging though the aisles of towering, mahogany shelves. Neverland Books was probably the only “cool” place to go within the city limits. It had character and history and every time he came back he felt a little sentimental.

 

His fingers dusted over stiff spines yet to be cracked open as he walked. The shop wasn't gigantic but it wasn't pathetic either. There were two floors and a lounge area packed with overstuffed chairs and beanbags, all surrounded by endless rows of books. He used to hang around here a lot when he was twelve, before his sister became an employee. It had been his escape. His method of coping after their parents died. Nothing else quite compared to losing oneself in someone else's world. Someone else's words. He still liked to think of it as his secret hideout even if he hardly visited anymore.

 

“Dami?” Jiyong called, leaning on the checkout counter.

 

She emerged from the back room, pen and folded newspaper in her hands and a look of intense concentration on her face. Dami's long hair was collected into a loose bun at the base of her neck; a few stubborn tendrils dusting her cheeks, refusing to be tamed. Jiyong observed the end of the pen slip between her teeth as she chewed on it and frowned. He cleared his throat and her head jerked up, features melting into an incandescent grin.

 

“Jiyong.” But then her grin fell. “Wait, what are you doing here?”

 

He shrugged. “I had some time to kill before work.”

 

“You shouldn't have.”

 

Jiyong figured she'd say that. They'd been pennies away from missing rent last month, in part because of the shift he'd lost to his stint in Saturday detention. He was still pissed about that.

 

Leaning further over the counter, he batted his eyelashes. “I needed to see your stupid face.”

 

Dami set the newspaper down and covered her mouth with delicate fingers, making a show of being swept up by her emotions and wiping at her eyes. “Oh, I'm so touched.”

 

She did this pretty frequently when he needed cheering up. Even if he didn't specify, she always knew. Usually it embarrassed him but on occasion she'd get him to crack a smile and she considered it the most monumental of achievements. Jiyong stared at her with a blank expression.

 

“You're the biggest fucking dork,” he muttered.

 

“Does that make you a dork by association?” Dami sobered, tilting her head to the side with a tiny smirk. “Y'know, blood relations and all.”

 

“Don't make me regret coming here.”

 

But the show kept going and she affected a display of mock sorrow, eyebrows furrowing as she gave him an exaggerated pout.

 

“So mean,” she sniffed and picked up her pen to resume gnawing on it, glaring at the newspaper.

 

It was hard to believe that she was twenty-seven and had spent the last six years essentially raising him like he was her own child. Because responsible as she was, she often seemed more like the teenager and Jiyong the adult. That is, aside from the suspensions and the fistfights and the class ditching...

 

“We just got a new shipment in the other day if you're interested in wandering,” Dami mumbled absently, scratching something into the thin layers of newsprint with the tip of her pen.

 

“Sure.” Jiyong chuckled, patting her hand gently. “Wouldn't want to distract you from that super important crossword puzzle.”

 

“Crosswords are serious business, Ji. I have to finish it or I won't sleep,” she whined.

 

“Freak.”

 

Dami narrowed her eyes and reached across the counter to poke him in the forehead. “Spaz.”

 

Jiyong stuck his tongue out as he backed away, making her shake her head as she tried not to smile too big. She failed. And he was content with having gotten what he came for, laughing quietly to himself and jumping up the stairs to the top floor two at a time. There were three or four other customers milling around in the aisles but the shop was otherwise deserted. Jiyong relished the opportunity to be alone with so many books again. He had a measly collection at home, consisting of less than a dozen volumes of varying genres. If he had his way there would be hundreds. More. Sometimes he'd go to the library at school but it was too depressing and lacked anything even remotely resembling life. Not to mention the fluorescent lights were the opposite of inviting. Neverland was its polar opposite; golden and warm. Like an old friend.

 

He passed each aisle with care, trying to decide where he wanted to go first. Fiction, poetry, graphic novels. He still had two hours until he needed to be at Frankie's. Rounding one of the tall shelves into the poetry section, Jiyong froze, eyes widening slightly. Because there was a figure crouched on the floor. A figure he was becoming alarmingly familiar with.  _Why does he have to be fucking everywhere?_  Restraining a sigh, he nibbled on his bottom lip. Curiosity was wrapping itself very tightly around his resistance and he glared up at the ceiling for several seconds before giving in. Jiyong crept as softly as he could across the wooden floor in his heavy boots, peeking over a broad shoulder to see what Seunghyun was studying so intensely.

 

The boy had two books in his hands; one the collected works of Yeats and the other a collection of selected poems by Auden.

 

“The one on the left is better,” he whispered.

 

Seunghyun jerked in surprise and toppled onto his ass, shoulder hitting the solid wood of the bookcase, resulting in a pronounced groan. Jiyong's hand flew to his mouth to stifle a giggle. He was such an asshole.

 

“Fuck,” Seunghyun said with emphasis; expression part pained, part shocked. He rubbed at his arm and then laughed.

 

“Sorry,” Jiyong uttered from behind his palm.

 

But the boy just smirked like he didn't believe him, gathering the dropped books and slowly climbing up to stand with a heavy sigh. Jiyong lowered his hand and slid it into his pocket, suddenly feeling a bit awkward and uncertain as to why. They stared at one another, each seeming to be at a loss. Jiyong shied away from Seunghyun's unwavering gaze and let his own wander. The boy's beanie was different, dark red this time, and his hoodie gray and worn and soft. Always so goddamned soft. He wondered if hugging him would be like hugging a gigantic stuffed animal and then was so disturbed by the thought that he stepped to the side, hiding his horrified blush in the books on the shelf across from them.

 

Seunghyun coughed to clear his throat; deep, amused timbre rumbling behind him. “You've read both of these.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Jiyong answered, fingers tugging at a tiny collection of Baudelaire as a distraction.

 

“Is there anything you haven't read?”

 

“Nope.” He turned and glanced up to find both of Seunghyun's thick eyebrows raised in skeptical amazement. Jiyong scoffed, pretending to be absorbed in the book in his grasp. “I'm kidding, jesus.”

 

When he raised his head again, the boy was watching him with ill-concealed interest; lips curling at the corners and eyes bright. It was unnerving and he was silently mortified to feel a heat in his cheeks again. _Can I stop blushing, please? Fuck._  This wasn't real. Why was this real?

 

“Don't look at me like that,” Jiyong grumbled, forcing his eyes to focus anywhere else but on Seunghyun. “You've been in the diner at night, what else am I gonna do?”

 

“I just...it's weird, seeing you here,” Seunghyun said, tipping over to lean into the bookcase.

 

 _And it's weird seeing you in all of my favorite places._  Jiyong played with the hairs at the nape of his neck and put the book back where it belonged. Nothing of his was safe anymore, apparently.

 

“I came to visit my sister,” he explained and fixed his gaze on the shelves.

 

The boy sputtered, almost dropping the books he held all over again. “Dami's your  _sister_?”

 

Oh, this was just wonderful. He spun around, arms folded and eyebrow arched.

 

“You know Dami?”

 

“I uh, I come here a lot too. She's the one who recommended Bolaño.” Seunghyun smiled as he talked, the curve of his lips growing wider the more Jiyong's expression became disbelieving. He chuckled faintly. “This isn't exactly a big town, Jiyong. I promise I'm not stalking you.”

 

“Right. Whatever.” He closed his eyes for a few seconds, shoulders tense. “I just don't get how I only saw you for the first time a month ago.”

 

Seunghyun breathed out a quiet laugh, one that sounded almost bitter. His gaze flitted over the ceiling and the shelves before finally landing on the floor. “Yeah, well...I'm easily overlooked.”

 

Jiyong studied him while he wasn't paying attention, chewing on the inside of his mouth. He shouldn't feel sympathetic. He shouldn't feel anything because he didn't care. At least, that's what he kept telling himself. Yet here he was, talking and looking and thinking about things that he absolutely shouldn't be thinking about. Seunghyun's eyes lifted, returning his conflicted stare, and Jiyong turned back to the books. His heart missed a beat; he actually  _felt_  the precise moment its rhythm faltered and picked up again like it hadn't failed him. And he would have left, fled down the stairs and ran out the door, but Seunghyun was asking him another question.

 

“Do you have a favorite?”

 

“Book?” He gave him a quick sideways glance. “I never thought about it.”

 

The boy shifted his weight, head resting lightly against the bookcase. Jiyong didn't realize how close they were standing until right then; their voices gentle and hushed. The shop seemed empty save for the two of them. He touched the nape of his neck again.

 

“There's nothing you've read multiple times?” Seunghyun pressed, the intimacy of his low tone making him nervous.

 

Was he legitimately losing his mind? Jiyong sighed, searching for the thin volume he knew would be there because Dami always made sure they had it in stock.  _Why am I still here?_  His fingers pinched the spine, sliding it from the shelf, and he pushed it into Seunghyun's chest without looking. It was  _Erotic Poems_  by e.e. cummings. Jiyong wasn't being a smart-ass, the small collection of poems and drawings really was one of his favorites. As proof, he had a copy at home that was falling apart because he'd flipped through those pages so many times he could recite the entire thing out loud to anyone who asked.

 

“This,” he stated, and then had the pleasure of experiencing several more heart palpitations when the boy's warm hand overlapped his to take it.

 

Whirling around, Jiyong molded his back to the solid lines of the shelves and stuffed his hands into his pockets once more. He stared at nothing, begging the tingle in his fingers to fade as he fought to steady his breathing.

 

“I think I'm finally understanding that it's going to take a lot for you not to impress me.”

 

He responded with a derisive snort. “I'm not trying to impress you.”

 

“Well, I am,” Seunghyun insisted softly. “Impressed, that is.”

 

Was that supposed to win him over or something? “Aren't you special,” Jiyong mumbled without much interest, still staring at nothing.

 

He heard him move more than saw it, daze interrupted only when he was faced with a smirking Seunghyun. A smirking Seunghyun that was far bolder than the one he'd spoken to last time. The boy stood there in front of him; invading his personal space, invading his head space.

 

“You deflect a lot.”

 

Jiyong refused to make eye-contact, choosing instead to concentrate on the scant few centimeters that separated their feet.

 

“Your point being?” He asked, trying to sound both defiant and bored but he had a feeling it wasn't working.

 

Seunghyun's hand twitched at his side, like he wanted to do something but then decided not to, and took in a deep breath. “Why?”

 

This was probably the part where he spelled it out, right? Told Seunghyun how it was in plain terms on the off chance he actually listened. He hesitated for a little bit, then opened his mouth.

 

“Because I don't like it,” Jiyong began, lifting his chin to look at the boy directly, “when people get too close.”

 

Those dark eyes were as inquisitive as they always were, but there was also something else. Something that was making him nervous again and he swallowed, tearing his gaze away before he could define it.

 

Seunghyun nodded. “Ah...”

 

Jiyong moved to the end of the aisle, needing to create distance. He was aware that he wasn't actually being threatened but it felt that way. Colin and Anna knew not to  _push_. Seunghyun didn't. And, admittedly, it frightened him.

 

“Yes, 'ah', are you satisfied now?” He demanded.

 

The boy grinned, all charming and good-intentioned, and it was really fucking annoying. More than that, he was getting angry.

 

“No.”

 

“Of course not,” Jiyong muttered dryly, tossing the boy a glare.

 

Nothing would ever be enough would it? He pulled his phone out of his pocket. He had another hour still, but he wasn't about to spend it  _here_  with his assailant. Seunghyun's grin had diminished but he was clearly no less amused by Jiyong's discomfort and was in fact stepping closer again. Jiyong panicked.

 

“I– I have to go,” he blurted and gave a vague gesture of farewell, jogging back the way he'd come and flying down the steps.

 

He didn't even stop to say goodbye to Dami. Jiyong would explain later if she was concerned, however the best thing for him right now was to be outside. He didn't wait for the bus either, just kept walking, oblivious to everything save for the movement of his feet carrying him forward. Tugging his hood up, Jiyong punched his fists into the pouch of his sweatshirt. He was over being curious about Seunghyun. If he'd learned anything in the last hour it was that Seunghyun was dangerous. Because Jiyong could  _so easily_  see himself letting go and that was so completely terrifying in so many ways.

 

Seunghyun had said that there was.... _something_  about him. Well there was something about Seunghyun, too. And Jiyong had no fucking intention of ever finding out what it was. 


	4. Chapter 4

Three days later, Victor broke his silence. It was after two in the morning and Jiyong was just leaving work, beyond sleepy and still reeling from his encounter with Seunghyun at the bookstore. He'd tried so hard to forget about it and move on. But of course the more he told himself not to, the more his brain refused to listen; mind circling around and around until everything spiraled into a whirlpool of neverending frustration. Jiyong walked slowly through the alley next to the diner, head bowed, thoughts a mess. He didn't get very far, however.

 

“Hey, princess. Did you miss me?”

 

 _Really? He had to do this now?_  Jiyong's shoulders sagged as he released a sigh and glared up at the cloudless, night sky.  _Wonderful._

 

“Victor, we see each other every fucking day,” he muttered, already calculating his chances of surviving when there were five of them and one of him and he was so tired he wanted to die.

 

Victor rolled his eyes and stepped closer. “Whatever.”

 

“Why are you here?”

 

“Think about it, dipshit,” the boy said, grinning, and his friends snickered like it was the funniest thing they'd ever heard. “No teachers. No principal. No risk of suspension. Just you and me and my boys.”

 

“Your  _boys_?” Jiyong snorted. “Do you have pet names for them too?”

 

It probably wasn't the smartest idea to egg Victor on when he was outnumbered but he couldn't help himself. His mouth always switched to autopilot when he was dealing with idiots. Victor snarled and lunged for him, grabbing Jiyong by the collar of his shirt. The boy's breath reeked of cheap vodka. So not only were they idiots, but they were drunk idiots. It seemed he had his hands full.

 

“Listen, you little faggot. I'm sick and tired of your high and mighty bullshit.” Victor's nose brushed his he was so close, angry spittle landing on his chin. “And now I'm gonna beat your pretty fucking face into the pavement.”

 

Jiyong smiled, staring directly into the boy's dark eyes as he murmured sweetly, “I always knew you wanted to fuck me.”

 

And then they were done talking. He'd anticipated a violent response to that particular remark and blocked Victor's attempt to punch him in the face, countering the attack by kneeing him in the balls. The jackass cried out and fell to the ground, whining. But Victor's  _boys_  were coming for him and he didn't have time to gloat. Not when one of the more muscular thugs had glinting, brass knuckles hugging his fat fingers. Jiyong thought about running away for a split second. He'd been waiting for this,  _wanting_  this, but he was aware now that it was going to cost him. He closed his eyes briefly, sucking in a deep breath, and stopped thinking altogether.

 

Whether it was because they were drunk or not, Jiyong managed to get in a few good hits before he took a swift right hook to the jaw, the point of contact blossoming with sparks of pain. He shook it off, grimacing as he ducked low to dodge another fist and then kicked one of the assholes in the gut, laying him flat. They were everywhere and Jiyong couldn't focus, blocking a hit only to take another in the side. Victor had finally crawled up from the ground to join his friends, murder clear as day in his narrowed gaze. Things went a little fuzzy after that.

 

“C'mere, you piece of shit.” He heard Victor growl from somewhere to his left and an arm looped around his neck and squeezed.

 

Jiyong gasped. Then all the wind was knocked from his lungs when the brass knuckles connected with his stomach. He was pretty sure he'd cracked a rib because it hurt like hell. And everything following that particular sharp burst of pain turned into an all-encompassing swell of misery. They used him like a punching bag while Victor held him captive, arm twisted behind his back and neck in a choke hold. His vision had blurred and he didn't even know who was hitting him anymore as he struggled to break free, but it was no use. Blood trickled down the curve of his face and he tasted the coppery tang on his teeth and his tongue. There was yet another crack of bone against his jaw. And another, splitting his lip. Jiyong went limp in Victor's arms and eventually he was dropped; a tattered rag doll on the asphalt. But they didn't stop. Their heavy, thick-soled boots flew into his spine and his stomach. His chest and his face. He'd curled into a ball to shield himself, every hit adding to the agony of the one that came before, and he sensed unconsciousness prodding at the edges of his awareness.

 

The barrage ended several minutes later. Someone, probably Victor, spit a glob of saliva that smacked into his forehead. He didn't have the strength to be disgusted.

 

“I want you to think about this the next time you feel like opening your fucking faggot mouth in my presence. Because I'd be happy to take you down again, Kwon.”

 

A harsh laugh fought its way out from his broken body and the movement made him hiss, every inch of him on fire. He only laughed because Victor had done nothing but restrain him. Such a fucking coward.

 

“Fuck...you,” he wheezed.

 

That earned Jiyong another rough kick to the stomach and he groaned, jaw clenched despite the throb.

 

“Come on, man,” one of the other kids urged, words a little slurred from the liquor. Or maybe that was just Jiyong. “He's useless. We don't wanna get caught.”

 

Then nothing, only the scuff of their feet as they walked away, chuckling like they hadn't nearly beaten someone to death.

 

For a while the uneven rasp of his breath was the only thing he could hear. Jiyong wanted to move but he wasn't sure that was such a good idea. His cheek was pressed against the ground, little chunks of gravel digging into his skin. The side of the building swam in and out of focus and it was making him dizzy, so he let his eyelids flutter shut. Jiyong wallowed in the pain. In the way he almost felt disconnected from his body, as though he was floating.

 

Jiyong liked floating.

 

So he stayed there and floated until the adrenaline wore off and the fuzziness started feeling more like he was being stabbed.  _Fuck, I'm gonna need so much aspirin for this._ He pushed up onto his knees gingerly and moaned through clenched teeth. Breathing was still difficult, his chest seeming tight; constricted. Jiyong stood up very slowly, the shock of being vertical making him sway from another wave of dizziness. He had no idea what time it was. The sky hadn't lightened yet so it wasn't too late. He brought his hand up to poke at his lip and his fingers came away sticky and wet. The side of his head was the same.  _Fantastic_. With an arm cradling his middle, he staggered forward on weak legs and started making his way home. Once he was home everything would be fine.

 

But, for the second time that night, he didn't make it very far.

 

A car had pulled into the diner's parking lot, headlights bright and nausea inducing. Jiyong wouldn't have thought much of it if he didn't recognize the color and the make. A silver Honda.  _Seunghyun._  He kept his head low and kept walking to avoid being noticed. No such luck.

 

“Jiyong?” The boy called as he climbed out of his car and jogged across the lot, mouth falling open in shock once he got close enough. “Holy shit, are you all right?”

 

“Do I fucking  _look_  all right to you?”

 

Seunghyun reached out, to cradle his face or grip his shoulder or whatever, but Jiyong latched onto his wrist before he could accomplish anything.

 

“ _Don't_...touch me,” he snapped, flinging the boy's hand away.

 

“I– sorry.” Seunghyun frowned, worried eyes traveling along Jiyong's face, brow knotted.

 

This was the last thing he needed. He was pissed off and aching and still so tired. Curling his arm tighter around his ribs, he breathed shakily and stared back.

 

“What do you want?”

 

“I– I just– ...shouldn't you go to the hospital?”

 

Jiyong huffed. It was supposed to be a laugh but it transformed into a watery cough and he winced. “I'm not going to the hospital. I don't have insurance.”

 

“But you can't  _not_  do anything about it,” Seunghyun said, tone severe and practically dripping with concern.

 

He laughed again and this time it actually resembled what it was.  _Great, so this is happening._  The boy's frown deepened, gaze never leaving his face. It made his skin prickle and he had to turn away. His frustration was mounting at a rapid pace, because what gave this kid the right to insinuate himself into Jiyong's life? He didn't ask for this.

 

“Am I supposed to care what you think because we talked a few times and now magically we're friends?” Jiyong lifted his chin, glowering. “I don't need your help, Seunghyun, so fuck off.”

 

That didn't seem to faze him, but he didn't really give a shit, legs already moving as he continued to amble towards the edge of the parking lot.

 

“At least–“ The boy sighed, rushing to stand in front of him and prevent his escape. “At least let me give you a lift back to your house.”

 

The overwhelming urge to yell collected into a lump in his throat; hovering at the back of his mouth, begging to be released. Jiyong breathed in and gasped, a lance of pain shooting through his side. Seunghyun obviously wanted to do something, fingers clenching and unfurling, but he kept his distance. Those eyes burned into his own and he sneered.

 

“I'm sorry, was there a part of “fuck off” that you didn't understand?” He choked on his own words, coughing into his fist.

 

They glared at each other and Jiyong discovered his own frustration mirrored in Seunghyun's eyes, mixing with the worry and the confusion and the hurt. His head was pounding. This was too much for him to handle in his abused state. Side-stepping around the boy, he walked forward and was just about to turn the corner when he was asked another question.  _Too many fucking questions._

 

“Why are you so afraid?” Seunghyun's voice was quiet but he still heard it and he paused, glancing over his shoulder to find that he hadn't budged.

 

_What the fuck?_

 

“I'm not  _afraid_.”

 

“No...” Seunghyun emitted a small, humorless laugh, spinning around to face him. “No, you're terrified.”

 

Something in him snapped then, the unfiltered intensity of his emotions enough to give him whiplash. Jiyong stalked back to where the boy was standing, ire rising with every step, and shoved him in the chest.

 

“Oh, you know me  _so_  well, don't you. The lost boy with the broken wing. Are you gonna fix me, Seunghyun? Is that it?” He kept advancing as the boy stumbled backwards, words growing venomous the more he spit them out. “Did it help you sleep that night after you left the ten dollar bill on the table? Did you think I would fall all over myself when you drew that stupid fucking cartoon? I'm not interested in being friends or anything else. And I don't need saving.”

 

His breath came in short bursts, shoulders heaving. His head felt light and suddenly his tiredness had become a full on, bone-deep exhaustion. He pinned Seunghyun with the sea of emotions swirling inside of him and instead of the wounded expression that he was expecting, he was given back nothing but warmth and an abundant sadness. It confused him and it irritated him and now his heart was joining the party, hitting his ribcage fiercely and pulsing in his ears.

 

“Do you honestly believe that you can keep everyone at arms length forever, Jiyong?” Seunghyun asked, cautious.

 

He groaned and allowed himself a pitiful chuckle. He couldn't  _do_  this.

 

“Seunghyun, go home,” Jiyong almost whispered, the exhaustion creeping into his voice.

 

Straightening his spine, he exhaled, which caused more pain to spike in his side and he made a strangled noise of distress, swaying off balance. The boy steadied him before he collapsed, holding him with gentle hands.

 

“Please.” Seunghyun's murmur ghosted along his neck. “Let me walk with you.”

 

Jiyong's forehead was pressed into the curve of his shoulder and he didn't pull back. Because if he did he'd probably fall over. Long fingers curled around his biceps and he felt Seunghyun's thumbs start to rub soothing circles through the material of his hoodie. He wanted to shove him away, he didn't want to be comforted or calmed, but his limbs wouldn't cooperate. Jiyong took a measured breath, letting it out very slowly. And then those hands lifted away and he found himself enfolded in a careful embrace. Seunghyun's arm had wound around his shoulders, one of his hands coming to rest on the back of his neck. He stiffened and the boy's fingers drifted to stroke lightly at his scalp. His heart pounded even louder in his chest and his ears and he felt his throat close when he tried to swallow. Jiyong was having serious difficulty keeping his emotions in check. He felt more drained by this display of kindness than he did from the physical trauma and it was messing with his head. But Seunghyun didn't push any more than he already had, simply offered him the opportunity for solace. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to navigate this. The sting of tears behind his closed eyelids shocked him and he gritted his teeth in an attempt to contain them. To make them disappear. Jiyong's breath hitched, the events of the night culminating in a total loss of emotional stability and a pathetic, hiccuped sob leaked softly from his lips as a result.

 

A single touch, a hug, and he was brought to his knees faster than a well-aimed punch to the gut. No one but Dami had hugged him in six years. Not like this, at least. He pushed his forehead more firmly against the curve of Seunghyun's shoulder and sniffed; the hand that wasn't supporting his middle hesitantly reaching out to bunch tightly in the fabric of the boy's sweatshirt. Seunghyun's cheek brushed the side of his face but otherwise remained as he was, letting Jiyong react as he wanted to. He didn't know what he wanted. But he allowed himself to take what was offered for a few quiet minutes, even though he didn't deserve it.

 

After the moment stretched beyond what he believed he'd been capable of, Seunghyun moved, withdrawing just enough to stand beside him and not break contact. He thought he might be embarrassed, but he wasn't. He was too busted, too burnt out, for embarrassment. Jiyong rubbed at his eyes as his other arm was tugged around the boy's waist.

 

One of his eyebrows jumped and he snorted. “Are you serious?”

 

“I could always carry you,” Seunghyun teased, obviously conscious of how hard this was for him.

 

Jiyong scrunched up his face and let out an exasperated groan. Under any other circumstances he would have never been okay with this, but these were not _any other circumstances_  and his ability to make it home without Seunghyun's support seemed unlikely. It was killing him that he even had to surrender control at all.  _Suck it up, Ji. Just get home and it'll all be over._  Adjusting his arm, he let his fingers sink once more into the softness of Seunghyun's hoodie and mentally prepared himself for what was going to be a very long walk.

 

“Why are you doing this?” Jiyong asked after they'd started forward.

 

They were a bit ungraceful. Not like there was anyone out and about to see them as they migrated down the sidewalk at a sluggish crawl. He felt weird clinging to him like this, his grip forever shifting, and it never stopped being uncomfortable.

 

“Because I want to.”

 

“That's it,” he stated with a small huff, causing him to wince.

 

Seunghyun's arm tensed, pulling him closer. His voice held a gentle challenge when he spoke again. “Do I need more of a reason?”

 

“Apparently not.” Jiyong dissolved into a coughing fit and they paused to let him catch his breath. “Y'know, I don–“

 

“Stop talking.” The boy looked down at him, features stern but eyes alive with something that Jiyong would classify as affection.

 

Scowling, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, bottom lip throbbing from the careless aggravation of the wound he'd forgotten about and he hissed. Seunghyun forced his hand away from his face when he tried to touch it again.

 

“Stop telling me what to do,” Jiyong muttered, fingers repositioning themselves over the boy's hip as they resumed walking.

 

His answer was a laugh tangled inside of a long-suffering sigh. “Fine.”

 

And for the next several blocks they fell into a cumbersome silence. Jiyong would have said more just to spite him but he didn't feel like it. The weight of Seunghyun's arm became less strange the longer it was there; the heat of his body becoming less intrusive and more of a balm. He didn't bother analyzing why, he was essentially braindead right now. Jiyong glanced up to see that Seunghyun was already staring at him and hoped that the blood on his face was enough to hide the way his cheeks grew warm.

 

“I still think you should go to the hospital,” the boy said, lips twitching as he turned away.

 

Jiyong rolled his eyes. “Freedom of speech is a wonderful thing, isn't it?”

 

Seunghyun's laughter was short and unexpectedly loud in the stillness of pre-dawn. “And the hits keep on coming.”

 

He smirked at that even though it hurt and the boy followed his lead when he rounded the corner onto a tree-lined side-street. Jiyong came to a halt outside of his building. It wasn't much; four floors and peeling paint, a neglected “garden” and cracked walkways.  _The stuff of dreams_. He fidgeted with the zipper on his hoodie and gazed at the blanket of brown leaves over brown dirt. Seunghyun's hand squeezed his shoulder slightly before letting go.

 

“Do you need me to help you inside?”

 

Jiyong shook his head. “No.”

 

“Is there...is there anything else I can do?” The boy asked.

 

He had started for the door, keys already clutched in his fingers, but he didn't miss the hopeful notes in Seunghyun's deep voice. He spun halfway and shrugged.

 

“Leave.”

 

“I– yeah, okay.” Seunghyun nodded, hands slipping into his pockets and seeming reluctant to listen to Jiyong's request. “Don't...don't die, or anything.”

 

He released a strained chuckle, eyebrows colliding as he gazed back at the boy at the end of the sidewalk.

 

“Why the fuck would you care if I died or not?”

 

“I just would, Jiyong,” Seunghyun almost mumbled. “Get used to it.”

 

And before he could say anything else, he watched him go, long legs taking him across the street and around the corner and eventually back to his car in the parking lot of Frankie's. Jiyong stood there in front of his apartment for five minutes; key in the lock, eyes closed, head resting against the door.  _I'll never get used to it._  He unlocked the door with a weary sigh and then climbed the stairs like a slug to the top floor. Dami was asleep, as expected, so Jiyong made sure to be extra quiet when he removed his boots. Shuffling into the bathroom, he didn't look in the mirror because he knew exactly what he'd see; only grabbed the aspirin from the medicine cabinet and retreated solemnly to his bedroom.

 

Jiyong popped four pills into his mouth and swallowed them down with the day-old glass of water on his bedside table. He flicked the light off, peeled the bloodied clothes from his body, and lowered himself onto the mattress.

 

Light from the streetlamp on the corner leaked through his blinds, painting orange stripes on the ceiling and the walls and the floor. He stared at them until the sharp throbbing in his side waned into a feeble twinge. Until the remembered heat of Seunghyun's touch grew cold and his eyelids grew heavy with sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Waking up had never been one of Jiyong's favorite activities, less so when his entire body felt like a single, aching bruise. He'd slept through the whole afternoon and was surprised that Dami hadn't materialized in front of him to loom over his bed and scold him for missing school. Maybe school hadn't even called her. Maybe that circle of hell disguised as an institution of learning had finally thrown in the towel when it came to  _Jiyong Kwon_. He could only hope that this was true. Peeling his eyelids open, he sighed up at the ceiling and made an attempt to claw his way off of the mattress. His face was crusty with dried blood and seemed swollen and still raw. Jiyong groaned as he stood, the tightness in his chest still making it difficult to breathe. When the pain shot like an arrow through his side, he grabbed the bottle of aspirin from his nightstand, tapping another four into his palm and washing them down with the rest of the water. Definitely a broken rib. His sister was going to finish Victor's job and murder him the minute she found out.

 

It took up to two months for a fractured rib to heal. Jiyong knew this because he'd had one before, when he was eleven. But he didn't have a job then, obviously. Or rent to pay and  _really_  important tests to take. Though his middle school had been far more understanding of his leave of absence, due mostly to the fact that he'd just lost both of his parents. He had a hunch that things wouldn't be so easily explained away this time around. Jiyong hobbled out of his room and right into the shower, needing to feel more human and less like a corpse. As the hot spray worked at the knots in his back, he thought about what they were going to do if he couldn't pick up his regular shifts at the diner for a while. There had to be a solution. Otherwise they were utterly fucked and eviction was unavoidable.

 

Jiyong shut off the shower once the pads of his fingers had puckered and stepped over the rim of the tub, finally turning to assess the damage in the mirror above the sink. It wasn't as bad as it felt, at least. He had two black eyes, both worse than the one that had just faded; a split lip, a multitude of small cuts from the thick rings that adorned those tacky bastards' fingers, and a colorful array of bruises all over his skin. Jiyong looked like shit. He stared at his own reflection for a long time, watching the droplets of water on his face evaporate, and tried not to let the bitterness overwhelm him. Sometimes he wondered if he'd have the courage to keep going if Dami wasn't around. He seemed like a colossal waste of space without her.

 

Narrowing his eyes at the mirror, Jiyong grimaced and dried off, returning to his bedroom to get dressed. When he fished his cellphone from the pocket of his discarded jeans, he had seven missed calls. It was also after five o'clock which meant that Dami would–

 

The front door exploded against the wall with a vibrating bang.

 

Which meant that Dami would be done at the bookstore and clearly also felt the need to make some time in her busy schedule to visit and rip Jiyong to shreds. He pulled a clean t-shirt over his head just as she barged into the room. But all of her vitriol melted into nothing the moment she saw him, no doubt catching the discoloration of his chest and his stomach before they were covered by thin cotton.

 

“Jiyong, I– I thought...” Dami stammered, expression softening.

 

He sighed, wrapping an arm around his middle as he sat down on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, I know exactly what you thought.”

 

“Jesus,” she breathed, inching closer as her wide eyes trailed over his puffy face. “What happened?”

 

Jiyong laughed a little and dropped his gaze to stare at the carpeted floor.  _Isn't it obvious?_

 

“Use your imagination.”

 

“Goddamnit, Ji,” Dami cursed quietly and moved to take his chin in her hand, inspecting his injuries, and then swept that hand over his head.

 

“God had nothing to do with it,” he muttered.

 

“Will you cut it out with the defensive bullshit?” She stepped away, raking her fingers through her hair as she began pacing. “I'm not gonna yell at you.”

 

Jiyong tracked the back and forth of her feet. She must have been pretty angry because she hadn't taken her shoes off before stampeding into the apartment. He tilted his head to the side, tugging at the hem of his boxers.

 

“Not yet.”

 

“...why?” She asked with some caution, paces slowing and eventually stopping completely.

 

He glanced up at her for a moment. She was already frowning. “One of my ribs is broken.”

 

It was her turn to laugh now. Dry and hollow. When she spoke again she spoke with her body as much as her mouth.

 

“You're so...careless, y'know?” Dami sighed and it sounded like an accusation. “So eager to annihilate yourself without thinking of the consequences. It's been  _six years_ , Jiyong, when were you planning on quitting? Never? Because nothing will bring them ba–“

 

“I'm not having this conversation,” he cut her off, bolting up from the bed with a gasp and heading out the door but she was right behind him.

 

“Tough fucking shit.” Her voice got louder as she cornered him in the living room, literally crowding him against the wall. “I can't stand by and watch you do this to yourself anymore, it's completely insane. And what am I gonna tell the school? Huh? We can't afford medical bills on top of everything else.”

 

Jiyong gritted his teeth and didn't look her in the eye. He didn't want to see the disappointment he knew he would find there. The sadness and the tenderness and the love he didn't deserve. He was not in the best mindset to be talking about this right now but he supposed he didn't exactly have a choice.

 

“Then maybe you should just let me drop out. It would be easier.”

 

Crossing her arms over her chest, she shook her head. There was no hesitation in her answer this time. “Absolutely not.”

 

Jiyong groaned, unsteady fingers curling into fists at his sides as he glared at her.

 

“For fuck's sake, Dami,  _why_?”

 

She was breathing heavily now through her nose. Her gaze was no longer tender but tired and hardened by the countless versions of this argument that they'd already had.

 

“Because that's giving up, that's throwing your life away.”

 

He bent forward to emphasize his point. “I already am throwing my life away.”

 

“And I don't understand the reason why,” she pleaded.

 

Jiyong slid a careful hand over his eyes and he laughed again, head tilting back to knock against the wall as he collected his thoughts. When he spoke it was only with his mouth because he couldn't let her see the way his fingers had started shaking.

 

“Did you ever think that, maybe, there's a possibility I just don't fit the mold? I'm not stupid, contrary to the evidence on my face.” He smirked and she tsked, lips forming a flat line. “I can ace the GED tests. Why the fuck does it matter if I have that or a diploma? I'm not going to college. College was your dream, not mine.”

 

Dami looked pointedly down at the floor, eyebrows arching as she said with too much weight, “Mom and dad would have wanted it.”

 

The sound that burst out of his mouth could have been one of amusement but it was harsh and unforgiving. Jiyong pushed away from the wall, brushing past his sister. Let her see his hands shake. He didn't care anymore. Spinning to face Dami, he bared his teeth in a livid grin.

 

“You think I give a rat's ass what  _mom and dad_  would've wanted? They're not here to make demands. And you shouldn't be making them in their place.”

 

Jiyong saw the hurt creep into her dark eyes. But when she opened her mouth to retaliate he raised his hands and exhaled roughly, shoulders slumping. He offered her a rueful twist of his lips.

 

“I'm not...I'm not  _you_ , okay?” His anger turned soft and he perched on the back of the couch, fingers intertwined in his lap. “I'm not the perfect student, I'm not the perfect son or the perfect brother. I'm just trying to get by, the only way that I know how.”

 

Dami gave him a watery smile, hugging herself firmly and rocking onto the balls of her feet. “I was never the perfect anything, Jiyong.”

 

He shook his head, watching her from the corner of his eye. He could feel his throat closing. The pinprick sting of fresh tears didn't shock him now like it had last night because these tears were long overdue.

 

“No, no you were the brightest. The most special. You were gonna go to law school and pass the bar exam and become something great. Something better than  _this_.” Jiyong huffed and picked at his fingernails, salty droplets winding down his cheeks. “And I was the only reason it never happened.”

 

Familiar arms coiled around him then and Dami cradled the back of his head while she stroked the length of his spine, handling him like a wounded animal. Jiyong buried his face in her chest and didn't even notice the pain when he sucked in a short breath or when the salt of his tears leaked into the cuts on his face and his jaw.

 

The sunlight pouring through the windows weakened as they stood there. He felt pretty pathetic, crying twice in less than twenty-four hours. Being consoled by two different people in the same span. Jiyong's thoughts turned to Seunghyun and he curled both of his arms around Dami's waist, sniffling and releasing another unsteady breath. The difference here was that he was looking for forgiveness and not consolation.

 

She pressed a kiss to the patch of hair just behind his ear.

 

“Sweet baby brother,” Dami whispered, kissing his forehead too. “It's not your fault. None of it is.”

 

He clenched the springy fabric of her cardigan in his fingers and fought against a second wave of tears. Jiyong's chest was constricted by more than just the pressure of his broken rib and he worried that it would crush him one of these days. Her arms slid away and she brought his battered face up to gaze into his wet, red-rimmed eyes. There were tears in her own as well.

 

“Let it go,” she urged gently. “Let go.”

 

“I don't–“ Jiyong tried to swallow the cluster of feelings that clung to the walls of this throat. He laughed once, out of desperation more than anything. “I don't know if I can.”

 

*

 

In the weeks that followed, the subject of his leaving school permanently was dropped. Dami had contacted an old friend of their parents, a doctor, who she remembered worked in one of the unremarkable, beige office buildings that littered the highway. As a favor, Dr. Goldman had examined Jiyong, providing him with proof of his injuries and excusing him from attending classes until he was deemed fit to return. And when he'd called Frankie to let him know what had happened, the man yelled so loudly Jiyong had to tear the phone away from his ear to prevent himself from going deaf. But he'd promised to pick up a few hours here and there once he was in better shape, which seemed to pacify the old bastard temporarily.

 

Dami also took on more hours when she could, pinching every penny just in case. They'd scraped by on the last rent payment and the next would be even worse. It meant he never saw her because he was always sleeping and he hated it. The only proof he had of her existence was the ever-increasing stack of homework assignments that she brought back from the school. Assignments that he never touched. Instead, Jiyong spent most of his time laying in bed hopped up on painkillers, staring at the ceiling feeling sorry for himself every second that he wasn't fantasizing about ripping Victor Perez's limbs off with his bare hands. He didn't actually want to get even, not really. Jiyong just preferred the anger over the depression and the boredom and the restlessness.

 

Some days he was so out of it that he didn't realize he'd been thinking about Seunghyun. For hours. He wondered if the boy wondered about him, about where he was and if he was all right. Or if Seunghyun had seen Dami at the bookstore or Anna at the diner and was she keeping his coffee cup sufficiently full? Jiyong pictured him hunched over one of the star-dappled tables writing in his notebook and losing time and place between the lines on the pages of whatever book he was reading. And when he'd come out of his trance, sitting on the couch with a cigarette that had burned all the way down to the filter without ever once touching his lips, he would frown. Much like he was doing right now.

 

“Shit,” Jiyong whined, brow creased and head a little fuzzy.

 

He brushed the ash that hadn't made it into the tray from his pajama pants and set it on the table with a wince. He would need to take more vicodin soon. Aspirin had failed to keep the agonizing twinge at a minimum and Dr. Goldman had been generous enough to write him a prescription. And thank god because he was fucking miserable without it. Jiyong was about to light another cigarette when the buzzer went off, nearly giving him a heart attack. His frown deepened. It was Saturday afternoon, Dami was at work, and they weren't expecting anyone as far as he knew. Maybe one of the other tenants had locked themselves out. He sighed and climbed off the couch, finger jamming the 'talk' button on the intercom next to the door.

 

“Yeah?” He answered flatly.

 

The speaker crackled with white noise and a scratchy voice filtered through a few seconds later. “Jiyong? It's Seunghyun.”

 

 _Are you fucking kidding me?_  He nearly whined again, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead into the wall, then poked the button to grumble, “What the hell do you want?”

 

“I haven't seen you around. I wanted to make sure that you were okay,” Seunghyun said, his concern transmitting through wires and cables right into Jiyong's ears. “Must be serious if you've stopped working at Frankie's.”

 

Lifting his head just far enough, he let it pound back against the wall with a dull thunk. He poked the button a little less viciously.

 

“I'm fine. You can leave now.”

 

“With my own eyes,” the boy persisted and Jiyong didn't need to be standing in front of him to know that he was probably smiling.

 

“I'm not letting you in.” He was definitely not letting him in.

 

“That's okay. I can wait.”

 

Jiyong released a nearly inaudible laugh and let his head thump twice into the wall.  _This kid is gonna kill me._ “You're wasting your time, Seunghyun.”

 

But the boy refused to relent, his mirthful tone making him want to tear his hair out. “I don't have anything else to do today, I'm not worried about it.”

 

He had nothing to say to that. And apparently Seunghyun had nothing to add because he heard the faint scuff of his shoes through the speaker. Jiyong twisted around and walked into the living room, peering out the window to discover his stalker leaning against his parked car; cigarette dangling from his lips and cup of takeaway coffee in his hand.  _Idiot_. Was he seriously going to wait all fucking day? Jiyong was sadistic enough and bored enough to find out. So he sat on the windowsill...and watched.

 

It was the first week of November and the air was so frigid Seunghyun's breath formed a hazy cloud with every exhale that wasn't smoke. He wore a heavier coat over his usual attire; army green with a fur-lined hood and lots of pockets and fucking  _toggles_. Jiyong scowled. At least he wouldn't freeze his ass off while being an idiot. Seunghyun's gaze traveled up the building until he spotted Jiyong at the window. He waggled his fingers in acknowledgment and the boy smirked, sipping from his styrofoam cup. Seunghyun blatantly stared at him with calm amusement and he was forced to avert his eyes when he noticed that he'd been blushing.

 

“Fuck my life,” Jiyong muttered at the floor, leaving the windowsill to search for the prescription bottle.

 

Why was he acting like this? To prove a point? There was no way the boy would last more than a couple hours. No way. And he wasn't going to change his mind either. Jiyong shook his head and knocked back one of the pills, grabbing his cigarettes and returning to the window. Seunghyun had taken to wandering, making loops around the trees and...and humming? He could make out the traces of an unknown melody through the thin barrier of glass, something mellow and almost sad. The boy's graceful fingers tapped in the air or against his thigh in time with the rhythm only he could hear as he hopped from sidewalk to street and back again. As he watched, he half-expected Seunghyun to produce a portable stereo and hold it over his head because Jiyong's life had clearly turned into an eighties romcom. Sighing, he flicked his lighter and inhaled, oddly fascinated. His curiosity was regaining its strength and Seunghyun was making it incredibly difficult to ignore him.

 

And he really  _really_  wanted to ignore him.

 

For the next several hours, much to his annoyance, Seunghyun sat there on the hood of his goddamn car, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes and reading a book that looked like it was at least a thousand pages long. And it was stupid and adorable and Jiyong was genuinely thinking about clawing his own eyes from their sockets. Too many times he'd caught himself smiling as he observed Seunghyun turn the pages and switch positions; sitting with his legs crossed or leaning back against his windshield. If he wasn't reading he was studying the last of the dying leaves; the pale sky through the tree branches and the row of houses across the street. A few residents of those houses had walked by and treated Seunghyun with great suspicion, probably wondering if they should call the cops, and Jiyong had surprised himself by laughing out loud.

 

When the afternoon shifted into evening, the sun dipping low and no longer offering any warmth, Jiyong rubbed carefully at his still-healing eyes and yawned. Seunghyun was doing his best not to shiver as the temperature plummeted, but he could tell it was a struggle. Jiyong's muscles ached from not moving and the vicodin was losing its magic. He peered out the window at Seunghyun's hunched form. There wouldn't be enough light to read by soon and he wondered if the boy would stay despite this. When he concluded that the answer was almost certainly  _yes_ , that the idiot would sleep in his fucking car overnight if that's what it took, something changed. He breathed deeply, head falling against the glass.

 

Jiyong was afraid, yeah, but for a good reason. There were so many things that Seunghyun didn't know and he still wasn't sure he wanted them to be known. By anyone. But if he was going to surrender, even a little bit, he might as well surrender to the kid who sat outside of his apartment all day just to check up on him; who had been on the receiving end of his ugliness and his anger and hadn't run away.

 

Plus, he wasn't really  _that_  sadistic.

 

Leaving the windowsill again, Jiyong walked to the door and pushed the 'talk' button.

 

“What are you reading?” He spoke loud enough so that it would carry over from the shitty speaker.

 

It was a shame the intercom didn't have video because he would have loved to witness Seunghyun's reaction to his disembodied voice finally calling his attention. Had he grinned? Had he laughed? Had he almost fallen off the car? Jiyong waited, forehead resting on the wall again, only this time he wasn't frowning.

 

“The Count of Monte Cristo,” came the scratchy, breathless reply.

 

He huffed, chuckling slightly.  _You asshole._  Was this karma? Was he being punished? He transferred his weight from one foot to the other and tilted his chin towards the intercom.

 

“402,” was all Jiyong said.

 

And before he could come up with an excuse not to, he held the button down that would unlock the door downstairs.  _Why am I doing this?_ Jiyong turned the deadbolt and his hand hovered over the door handle for thirty seconds. This was crazy.  _Seunghyun_  was crazy. Sighing, his fingers wrapped around the knob and he stuck his head out into the hallway. Heavy footsteps echoed in the stairwell, gradually becoming louder. Jiyong didn't stop his mouth from quirking into some semblance of a smile, arms crossed over his chest as he ignored the bundle of nerves in the pit of his stomach that pulsed each time rubber sole met hard wood.

 

“Hi,” Seunghyun panted, rounding the bannister with a blinding grin on his face and a white paper bag clutched in his fist.

 

The boy moved closer, cheeks a little rosy from the exertion and the cold.  _The Count of Monte Cristo_  was stuffed into one of his coat pockets, making it bulge awkwardly. Jiyong leaned against the door frame and also ignored the way his scrutiny snagged on long legs and prominent dimples. It was strange to have him standing here. Inside his building and probably inside his apartment in a few minutes if he decided not to be a total jerk. It would be an act of trust that he wasn't positive Seunghyun had earned yet. Though Jiyong still felt a pang of guilt now and then when he remembered how he'd treated the boy that night in the parking lot. They locked eyes. Seunghyun's gaze was intense and warm and he couldn't hold it for more than a short moment.

 

He cleared this throat, lifting an eyebrow in amusement. “Did you run all the way up the stairs?”

 

“Yes,” the boy breathed and laughed softly, nodding his head once.

 

“What's in the bag?” Jiyong pointed at the package that was strikingly familiar. The unmistakable scent of grease and cheese and butter filtered in through his nose and he almost moaned because he hadn't eaten anything all day.

 

“I was at the diner earlier.” Seunghyun coughed into his hand and sighed, lips curling and eyes darting from Jiyong's face to the floor as he explained. “I asked Anna what your favorite thing on the menu was but she said she'd have to kill me if she told me. So I made an educated guess...and based on her reaction I'm going to assume I wasn't entirely off the mark.”

 

 _Way to go, Anna._  He smiled again, biting gently at his tender bottom lip and squinting at Seunghyun.

 

“Are you bribing me with food?”

 

“Maybe,” Seunghyun murmured, tilting his head to the side with a smirk. “Can I come in or are you gonna make me loiter in the hallway for another five hours?”

 

Jiyong laughed, hands falling to play with the hem of his wrinkled, white t-shirt. Seunghyun had brought him food and he'd forced him to stay outside because he was stubborn and terrified. Terrified of how easily this boy was discovering cracks in his defenses and making them wider without fear of what he might find. And Jiyong was letting him.

 

Another laugh pushed its way out from his lungs, though it was a little unstable.

 

“It wasn't  _that_  long,” he mumbled and stepped aside.

 

“I got here at one. It's after six now.” Seunghyun's tone was light despite the complaint, eyes teasing. He handed the bag over once Jiyong had locked the door behind them. “Sorry that it's cold. I wasn't exactly expecting to wait around.”

 

He lead the boy down the hall and into the kitchen, setting the takeout on the counter.

 

“Seemed pretty prepared to me.” Jiyong gave him a sideways glance.

 

Lingering by the entrance, Seunghyun appeared hesitant to step fully into the room and leaned back on the wall with his hands in the pouch of his hoodie. His lips were curving again. “I figured my chances were fifty-fifty.”

 

 _So confident_ , he thought wryly. And it was that confidence that had been wearing him down the most. Seunghyun was so sure that Jiyong would crumble eventually as long as he kept pushing. Which he was, albeit slowly and sometimes in the wrong direction. He opened the paper bag and removed the styrofoam container, popping the lid and holding back his hysterical laughter when he saw the perfectly soggy grilled cheese and tomato sandwich surrounded by stale fries.

 

Jiyong closed the lid and slid his fingers through his hair, turning to narrow his eyes at Seunghyun. “You're really trying to score brownie points, aren't you.”

 

The boy emitted a quiet huff, obviously pleased, head tipping forward as he looked down at his feet and then up again through the web of his eyelashes.

 

“Was I right?”

 

Jiyong's mouth twitched. “Amazingly enough, yes.”

 

And Seunghyun's grin returned, possibly more blinding than the last. He shifted against the counter and felt the strangeness of this situation become stranger. Or maybe that was the bundle of nerves still pulsating in his stomach. Or maybe it was the hunger. Jiyong didn't know anymore. But he was having problems dealing with the boy's perpetual smiles and the way his eyes shrunk into stupidly happy crescent moons when he laughed.

 

“So, how are you feeling?” Seunghyun asked, his soft, rumbling voice filling the kitchen. “I mean, you look...you look good.”

 

When Seunghyun's cheeks bloomed red again, only from embarrassment and not cold temperatures, Jiyong suppressed a groan because even his  _blush_ was fucking charming. He snorted and folded his arms.

 

“I don't look good I look diseased.” Jiyong studied his thumbnail closely, brows arching and then furrowing as he spoke. “But I'm fine. Really. I should be back at Frankie's in about a week.”

 

His skin tingled, up along the back of his neck and across his scalp causing the hairs on his arms to rise. He could feel Seunghyun watching him and wondered if this was strange for him too. Then his heartbeat increased in speed and he came very close to giggling as he reached out to touch the takeaway container.

 

With a sigh to calm himself, Jiyong murmured, “I can't believe you brought me grilled cheese.”

 

It was a remarkably sweet gesture, he would admit that much. One that also might have been the tipping point in regards to his feigned indifference. Seunghyun's face went pink, lips pursed slightly to prevent the appearance of yet another smile. Jiyong bit back a smile of his own. All this grinning and blushing was starting to make him nauseous.

 

Seunghyun freed both of his hands, removing his beanie to ruffle his short hair and yanking it back over his head. He straightened, feeling around in his pockets for his car keys. “I think I'm gonna get going. You should get some rest.”

 

“Hot date?” He asked, failing to hide the humor in his voice.

 

The boy laughed, eyes crinkling as he fidgeted with his keys, and the sound inspired another wave of goosebumps.

 

“Yeah, you'd be amazed at how sexy Alexandre Dumas looks in a little black dress and a pair of heels,” Seunghyun deadpanned.

 

They stared at each other for a beat and then both broke down into giggles and gasping sighs. Jiyong hadn't laughed this much in a while. He'd had no reason to. But it suffused him with a peculiar heat that he didn't know how to describe or categorize. Jiyong rubbed at his chest, the laughter agitating his healing rib. He breathed in, bringing air into his lungs until it felt like they might pop, and breathed out. Seunghyun's mirth had dimmed and he was looking at Jiyong with a slight frown, as if he regretted making him laugh so hard. Jiyong didn't say anything though, just gave him one last flash of a smile and walked him to the front door. Before the boy could get more than a few steps into the hallway he called out on impulse.

 

“Seunghyun,” he blurted and Seunghyun walked backwards until they were face to face again. The boy was wearing an expression that he could only classify as delighted.

 

“Thanks,” Jiyong continued, unsure of his words but saying them anyway. His fingers twisted together and the bundle of nerves vibrated in his stomach. “And...I'm– I'm sorry. About what I said.”

 

For whatever reason he couldn't look Seunghyun in the eye, gaze darting everywhere else and coming to rest on their feet. He was reminded of their conversation in the bookstore. The only threat now, though, was himself.

 

“It was my pleasure,” the boy murmured, gentle and low and had they always been standing this close? “But you have nothing to be sorry for, I didn't take it personally.”

 

“You're weird.”

 

Seunghyun scoffed.

 

“Like you aren't?”

 

He clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, the corner of his lips tugging into a reluctant smirk as he finally looked up. “Whatever.”

 

But Seunghyun just gave him another smile. A fond smile. And Jiyong watched him lift his free hand, fingers twitching as if searching for some kind of contact, only to change his mind and slide it into his pocket.

 

“Feel better, Jiyong.” Seunghyun's dark eyes burned into his and danced and then he was leaving; walking down the stairs.

 

Jiyong lingered in the doorway, listening to the receding clomp of rubber soles on hard wood. He blew out a shaky breath and rushed forward, leaning over the railing.

 

“I hope Alexandre puts out,” he shouted.

 

In answer, Jiyong heard peals of deep, rolling laughter reverberate in the stairwell and he grinned like a fool, retreating back into the muted emptiness of the apartment. Shoulder-blades pressed against the door, he slapped a palm over his cheek and sighed. His skin was warm. Of course it was. Jiyong rolled his eyes and dragged himself from the door into the kitchen. He wasn't going to think about what just happened. He was going to stuff his face with that grilled cheese sandwich and not think about anything.

 

*

 

Six days later, Jiyong was back at work. He was only allowed a handful of hours a day, but he'd take anything he could get at this point because Dami was busting her ass while he'd stewed in his own uselessness for weeks going stir-crazy. Jiyong almost wanted to be back in class, too. Anything would have been better than staring vacantly at his ceiling or the wall or the books he'd tried to read, never managing to turn more than a few pages. Though for all the teasing about Seunghyun that Anna chose to inflict upon him, he might have spoken too soon.

 

“But it's so precious!” She argued, poking him in the cheek.

 

“It's not precious. It's fucking annoying,” Jiyong mumbled, slapping her hand away from his sprawl over the lunch counter, head pillowed on his arms.

 

“Oh my god, you're hopeless,” Anna laughed and threw her hands up in defeat. “That kid is so into you and you can't even see it.”

 

“And you're delusional.”

 

Frankie's was pretty much deserted, the lunch rush having come and gone. Harsh sunlight slanted in through the large glass windows and Jiyong squinted against the glare. There was an elderly couple in the corner booth splitting a piece of cherry pie and a young woman bent over a magazine at the end of the counter, coffee cup untouched and cold. He saw her lips quirk every few minutes and he had a feeling she'd been eavesdropping on their conversation. Anna adjusted her turquoise blouse, muttering to herself about 'blind idiots' as she brushed her now raspberry red hair from her face and stormed away to check on the customers. Jiyong's mouth lifted in a smile.

 

Nice as it was to see familiar faces again, there was one face that was missing. He pretended this didn't bother him; pretended he wasn't disappointed that Seunghyun hadn't been present to pester him and draw weird cartoons and grin when he said something stupid. Jiyong buried his head further into his arms. He'd told Anna it was annoying but it was annoying in a good way. If that even made any goddamned sense at all. Jiyong didn't understand it, he just knew this was how he felt. Expelling a weary sigh, he plunged his hands into the unkempt mess of his growing hair and glared at the counter top. He liked feeling this way even less than the boredom and the dull ache. Because it wouldn't subside. It just...hung around, buzzing in his head at a constant frequency. So he tuned it out. Or tried to. Success was frustratingly inconsistent.

 

When he went home a couple hours later, the stack of neglected homework assignments was resting ominously in the middle of the kitchen table. Dami had left a little note on the top, explaining that if he didn't complete at least half of them by Monday morning, she was going to pawn him off on some distant relative in South Korea and never speak to him again. Jiyong thought about tossing the stack into the blender. Or lighting it on fire. He groaned and shuffled over to the cabinet, grabbing a package of instant noodles. Monday meant he had two days.  _Two fucking days._  He'd commit suicide before getting through a third of that shit.

 

His sister was officially the devil.

 

But he'd played along, his bitterness and guilt the only things that had helped him survive the weekend without blowing his brains out. Most of the assignments were a joke. The rest, he half-assed like he always did. And although Jiyong's rib wasn't fully healed, he returned to school that Monday per Dami's orders. He was healthy enough, according to Dr. Goldman, and that was all she needed to hear. So with the aid of fuzzy, vicodin induced bliss, Jiyong sat through every single one of his classes.

 

Aside from his Algebra teacher grilling him in a futile attempt to humiliate him in front of his classmates, the day had been relatively unexciting. And by the time the lunch bell rang, Jiyong was itching for a cigarette to soften his aggravation. He walked against the flow of students migrating to the cafeteria. Which made him remember that he'd never had the chance to visit Colin. In fact, he'd forgotten about the poor sap altogether. Jiyong held in a chuckle when he imagined how worried the Irishman must be.  _Jackass probably thinks I'm dead_. Lighter in hand, he snorted to himself and pushed open the heavy steel door at the end of the corridor, stepping out onto the cement landing.

 

“You're back,” a low voice stated off to his left and he jolted, lighter tumbling from his grasp and bouncing onto the steps.

 

Jiyong's heart hammered away in his chest as he turned his head, greeted with the sight of Seunghyun's smirking face. The boy was perched on the ledge, much like he had been the first day they'd met, long legs dangling and lit cigarette clutched in his fingers. He breathed a faint laugh and was about to pull his pack of Marlboro reds from the pocket of his coat when Seunghyun approached him, already holding out one of his own. Jiyong took it, tucking the filter between his teeth, and silently watched the boy cup his hands around the tip to light it.

 

“Sorry,” Seunghyun murmured, eyes shimmering with mirth.

 

He inhaled, letting his hand fall to hang at his side, then tilted his head to blow a cloud of smoke up into the cold air. Jiyong followed the cloud for a moment before lowering his gaze to meet Seunghyun's.

 

“You weren't at the diner last week.” Jiyong flicked his thumb against the filter, attention flitting from the boy's intense stare to the corner of his mouth; to his neck, the tiny black plug stretching his earlobe, and then back to his eyes.

 

“I was shackled to a table in the library. Group research paper for my AP Bio class.” Seunghyun's lips spread into a teasing smile. “Why, did you miss me?”

 

The truth was that he sort of had. He would never admit it, though. He was barely admitting it to himself. Jiyong sniffed, not quite capable of controlling his mouth, lips stubbornly lifting and no doubt giving him away.

 

“No.”

 

Seunghyun swayed into his space, their noses centimeters apart. His smile widened. “You're a shitty liar.”

 

And then the boy withdrew, moving to lean into the wall beside Jiyong as he continued smoking. Jiyong stared straight ahead. He noticed that his heart hadn't stopped pounding. Seunghyun shifted and their shoulders pressed together and then the pounding halted, his heart frozen in his chest for ten paralyzing seconds before it fought to resume its normal rhythm. Looking down at his hands, Jiyong laughed and brought his cigarette to his lips.

 

Shitty liar, indeed.


	6. Chapter 6

“You've been working a lot for someone who just recovered from a serious beatdown,” Seunghyun said, a bit distracted, his eyes downcast as he flipped through the flimsy pages of his notebook.

 

Jiyong was slouched across from him, both arms hooked above his head over the back of the vinyl seat. He sighed, but he didn't protest, studying the boy intently like he could read his thoughts if he concentrated hard enough. Seunghyun was searching for something amongst his scribbles and Jiyong stared at his fingers. They moved slowly, meticulously caressing every page as he skimmed over words he'd already written. Jiyong wondered how many notebooks he'd filled this year alone and what it was that he wrote about all the time. His head flopped to the side, cradled against the inside of his arm as he watched. Seunghyun had been coming into the diner every night since that day at school. To keep him company. To ask more questions. Jiyong's lips slanted and he felt a pleased tingle pass through him, collecting in the tips of his toes – toes that curled inside of his boots – and he cleared his throat.

 

“It's nothing I can't handle,” Jiyong said, eyelids heavy. He was so tired and the cat clock on the wall was taunting him with its creepy grin and slow-moving hands. “I don't really have a choice, anyway.”

 

Seunghyun looked up, eyebrows locked together in confusion.

 

“Rent, remember? I have to make up for all the hours I lost sitting on the fucking couch in a vicodin coma.”

 

“Do you think you and Dami'll be okay?” Seunghyun frowned, propping his elbows on the table, notebook forgotten.

 

He shrugged and hoped that his anxiety on the subject didn't bleed through the veil of forced calm he'd taken to wearing in public. Seunghyun's gaze was steady, but kind, and he let himself revel in it for a moment before lowering his arms to wrap them around his shoulders.

 

“Dunno.” Jiyong exhaled, focusing on the patterned table top. “Too early to tell. I'd be less worried if I didn't have to waste half the day at school.”

 

“Speaking of–“

 

“If you're about to lecture me, I don't wanna hear it,” he interrupted with a slight smirk.

 

Seunghyun averted his eyes almost immediately, fingers dropping to play with one of the blank pages in his hands, bending the edge until it creased. Jiyong felt the sudden desire to stop his fidgeting, to place his own hand over those long fingers, but he just inhaled and clenched his fists and waited for him to speak.

 

A ghost of a smile appeared and then faded, Seunghyun lifting his head to look Jiyong in the eye. “I'm not...I'm not gonna lecture you. I was just curious.”

 

 _You're always curious._  His smirk widened as he picked up his coffee cup and took a small sip. It was lukewarm and bitter but he was too lazy to go behind the counter and refill it. Seunghyun flattened the creased page then turned it over and folded it in the opposite direction. Jiyong didn't understand why he was afraid. Surely by now the boy knew that he'd either answer his questions or he wouldn't.

 

“Well?” He prodded.

 

Seunghyun's hands stilled and he leaned back in his seat, the vinyl squeaking quietly as he met Jiyong's gaze.

 

“Why do you fight it so much? I mean, you're not brainless.”

 

Jiyong laughed. “You're so sweet.”

 

“Shut up,” Seunghyun mumbled, grin spreading gradually across his face as he slipped his beanie off and tossed it in his lap.

 

He was starting to lose count of the number of times he'd seen Seunghyun run his hands through his hair. And it shouldn't have been so mesmerizing, but he could never look away; could never find the strength to not follow the way his fingers disappeared into messy, black strands. The way those black strands would glide between his knuckles and stick out at funny angles until they were tamed again. Jiyong was also starting to lose count of the number of times he'd mentally attributed the words “cute” and “adorable” to something Seunghyun did. Which kind of made him want to shrivel up and die.

 

Biting down on his lip, Jiyong slumped a little lower against the backrest and decided that continuing to glare at the table was probably for the best. Still, he sensed Seunghyun's gaze; felt the heat of it on his skin. Or maybe that was just him. Seunghyun was becoming a lot less stealthy in regards to staring and it usually resulted in something dumb like his stomach doing a somersault. He let out a small huff.

 

“Don't tell me you actually  _like_  high school,” Jiyong said, reaching over to take his coffee again.

 

Seunghyun snorted. “It's not my favorite thing in the world, no.”

 

“Lucky for you, it's almost over,” he mumbled over the rim of the ceramic mug.

 

With a sigh, Seunghyun hunched forward onto the table, chin cradled in his hands. “Not soon enough.”

 

The somber statement hung in the air between them while Jiyong knocked back the rest of his bitter coffee. Something in the tone of Seunghyun's voice reawakened his own curiosity because he realized that he didn't really know anything about the boy. Not outside of his reading habits and the fact that he wrote more than anyone he'd ever met. And that they smoked the same cigarettes and were both addicted to coffee; that he was too nice and annoyingly perceptive and just as stubborn. Jiyong swished the dregs of sediment around in the bottom of his cup and wondered for the thousandth time why Seunghyun would even bother with someone like him.

 

“You still haven't answered my question.”

 

He smiled, flicking his eyes up to discover Seunghyun watching him again. “I was hoping you hadn't noticed.”

 

“Nice try,” Seunghyun murmured.

 

Setting his cup down, he rubbed at his face, trying to keep himself alert but still feeling like a zombie. Jiyong was slipping into one of his moods, the need to be defensive instead of amiable making his shoulders tense. He just wanted to go home and sleep before he got too cranky and said something he'd regret.

 

“Why do you even care?” he asked, tone perhaps a little more rude than he'd intended.

 

Seunghyun didn't let this faze him though. It seemed he didn't let much get to him when it came to Jiyong and Jiyong was always left with this tiny ball of frustration in his chest because he couldn't fucking figure out  _why._

 

“Is it really so bad that I'd like to know you?”

 

He scoffed, grinning despite himself, and observed Seunghyun for a moment; taking in the openness of his expression, the muted humor in his eyes and the way he stared back as if to challenge whatever words would come out of Jiyong's mouth in denial. Because of course Seunghyun knew he would try to deflect. It was his M.O.

 

Jiyong let his gaze fall to his hands as he stretched the material of his t-shirt with his fingers.

 

“I'm not worth knowing, Seunghyun,” he said quietly.

 

“I beg to differ,” came the equally quiet reply.

 

His eyelids drifted shut, Seunghyun's gentle conviction at odds with the pity party he was currently having inside of his own head. Jiyong felt so off balance when he was with him, like he was teetering on the edge of something but he didn't know what. A soft sigh left his lips and he grabbed his empty coffee up, pulling himself from the booth to stand.

 

“I have to close out. It's almost two,” he said, tiny ball of frustration only growing bigger when he glanced over and Seunghyun was regarding him patiently and without any irritation whatsoever.

 

Turning back, he held the boy's gaze for as long as he could handle it. Jiyong's eyes narrowed as he tried to put the invisible puzzle pieces together in his mind and Seunghyun just returned his scrutiny with a peaceful sort of affection. Because Jiyong's attitude was amusing to him. Maybe he was more transparent than he liked to believe. Maybe Seunghyun had x-ray vision. He sniffed, looking at the cat clock and then once more at Seunghyun before walking away, dragging his feet across the tiled floor.

 

At the register he counted his drawer and didn't lift his head until he heard the bell above the door jingle, then listened to the rumbling sound of an engine starting and growing faint as Seunghyun drove off. The diner was silent save for the occasional noise from Leroy in the kitchen and the repetitive tick-tock tick-tock of the cat's tail as it swung back and forth. Jiyong ground the heel of his hand into his eye and sighed again, deflating against the edge of the counter. What did Seunghyun see when he looked at Jiyong? What was he missing when he peered into the bathroom mirror above the sink and saw nothing?

 

 _I wanna see what you see,_ he thought to himself, eyes closed. Jiyong released a weary chuckle and then frowned, untying his apron and tossing it in the box beneath the register. Viv and Heather offered him sleepy smiles as they entered. He said hello and goodbye and tugged on his coat.

 

Lighting a cigarette on the curb before strolling across the parking lot, Jiyong tilted his face towards the sky; counting the handful of stars that played hide and seek from behind thick clouds. He took a drag and let gravity pull him from the sidewalk as he stumbled along the asphalt. A cold breeze ripped through the silhouettes of trees, making him tremble. Jiyong thought about the sincerity in Seunghyun's dark brown eyes.

 

_I wanna see what you see._

 

*

 

And so it went – two steps forward, one step back. Seunghyun's determination never wavered as he kept pushing little by little, coming to the diner every day, and Jiyong was the pendulum that swayed from left to right. From prickly to pleasant. Most of the time he was too exhausted to care and Seunghyun took all of it in stride; took his petulance and weird moods as much as he took everything else. No one but Dami had ever been this tolerant of his bullshit and it was...impressive, to say the least.

 

But the endless rotation of school and work and school and work was beginning to take its toll on Jiyong and really he just wanted this month to be fucking _over_  already. Because he felt non-human. The only thing that kept him sane was Seunghyun, actually; the boy's enduring companionship something he anticipated instead of feared. Jiyong wasn't always on his best behavior, but he had come to appreciate that, with Seunghyun, he didn't have to be anything other than exactly what he was in that moment.

 

Sometimes they talked and it was easy –

 

“ _Is that kid still trying to mess with you?”_

 

“ _Hmm?”_

 

_Jiyong's head was resting on his arms, grogginess making him seem infinitely heavy, like he would sink into the earth if not for the floor of the diner blocking his descent. Seunghyun had brought some of his schoolwork with him and was busy copying information down from one of his textbooks. He listened to the continuous scratch of his pen and to the familiar rumble of his voice as he spoke._

 

“ _What's his name? Victor?” Seunghyun's scratching stopped and Jiyong listened to him gulp down half of his coffee._

 

“ _He constantly harasses me in class, but that's about it,” he mumbled, words slowly pushing their way past his lips. “I don't have the energy to do anything else but ignore him, even though it's eating away at my soul that I can't put him out of his goddamn misery.”_

 

“ _And what would be the point of that?”_

 

_Jiyong listened to the ceramic mug hit the surface of the table and he swore he could hear the curve of Seunghyun's mouth and the arch of his eyebrow. There was a clatter of dishes in the kitchen and the sound of running water. Leroy was humming the first few bars of a Temptations song over and over again._

 

_Shifting, he looked at Seunghyun from under hooded lids. “I'd be doing the world a huge favor. He's so obnoxious it hurts.”_

 

“ _You're obnoxious too,” Seunghyun teased, eyes bright and adorable dimples indenting his cheeks. Jiyong kicked him in the shin underneath the table and the boy's alarmed cry dissolved into surprised laughter. “Fucking–” Seunghyun hissed through a grin. “You asshole.”_

 

_Jiyong scrunched up his nose and let his head fall back onto his arms. He smiled._

 

“ _Seunghyun, stop neglecting your homework, it'll get jealous.”_

 

_And his only reply was a half-hearted nudge of the boy's foot against his own._

 

Sometimes they talked and it wasn't –

 

 _Sunday morning and the diner was fit to bursting. They had a queue outside, impatient customers lining the sidewalk, blowing humid breath onto frozen fingers in the cold November air. Jiyong had just finished serving a table of six and the muscles in his arms were vibrating from carrying all the overflowing plates of food. But the fun didn't end there, because they called him over again and Jiyong plastered a benign smile on his face as he listened to the growing list of complaints and requests and forgotten orders. Apparently today was “Criticize Everything” day. He was trying to keep people happy; to not miss out on details and to remember to refill coffee and not spill anything and be fucking_ nice  _even though all he wanted to do was stick a spoon in both of his fucking eyes. The endless, discordant hum of voices and clinking plates and molten, sizzling grease were more overwhelming than ever before. Jiyong didn't know what made this Sunday different than any of the others but the stress of the last few weeks and the lack of sleep and the long hours were wearing him so thin. Panic crept, slow and deadly, up from the pit of his stomach to hover in the back of his throat and he tried to swallow it down but he couldn't. He saw Anna and Heather running laps between tables, wiping sweat from their foreheads, and he knew he wasn't the only one suffering at the moment but he needed a second. Feeling dizzy, he leaned against the back wall next to the entrance of the kitchen. Jiyong covered his cheeks with both hands and breathed._

 

“ _Hey,” Seunghyun greeted, having just walked though the door. The boy's cheerful expression vanished as he stepped a little closer. “Is everything okay? You seem kinda pale.”_

 

_Was this deja vu? Didn't they just do this? Why was he always here when Jiyong was broken or breaking?_

 

“ _Please, Seunghyun...not now.” He made to move away from the wall, eyes already on tables that needed to be serviced but a hand was holding him back – laying flat over his agitated heart._

 

“ _Jiyong, wait.”_

 

“ _I can't–” He almost gasped, fighting against the pressure on his sternum. “I have to go back to work. I don't have time for this,” Jiyong said, rushed and frantic and he wouldn't look at him. Couldn't look at him. He had to go._

 

_But the hand didn't move, in fact it pushed against his chest until his shoulders hit the wall again. Jiyong hadn't realized that he was breathing so heavily until the weight of Seunghyun's palm rose and fell with the swelling of his lungs. It still didn't seem like enough, each inhale of oxygen too short. His eyes darted from floor to ceiling and god, was he shaking?_

 

“ _Easy,” Seunghyun murmured, shuffling closer to block Jiyong's view of the restaurant with his broad shoulders._

 

“ _But I–“ and he gasped again._

 

“ _Shh...” the boy hushed, his hands rising to cup the sides of Jiyong's neck, thumbs stroking the line of his jaw. “Breathe.”_

 

_Seunghyun's fingers were cold on his skin and it elicited a tiny shiver and a fresh spark of panic. He squeezed his eyes shut, head falling back to knock into the wall as he tried desperately to chill the fuck out. But it was hard. Seunghyun was touching him, which was okay and not okay and it shouldn't have been helping, but the way his hands were curled around his neck, the way it felt to have him so near; Jiyong almost succumbed to the urge to burrow into his arms in the hopes that today would just cease to be._

 

_The flurry of activity and the incessant noise filling the diner almost faded into the background while they stood there, leaving only them. Leaving only the warmth of the boy's body and his unexpectedly soothing presence. Seunghyun's thumbs roamed a little higher, daring to brush the swell of his cheekbones and Jiyong's eyelids fluttered open. He inhaled sharply and let it out in a shaky puff as he stared into Seunghyun's eyes and found a gentle reassurance. The anxious churning in his gut subsided and he was still lightheaded. He didn't know what had come over him, he wasn't prone to panic attacks. But he was glad – that the other boy was here. Jiyong dreaded to think what might have happened if he hadn't shown up when he did._

 

“ _Sorry,” he whispered, feeling his breathing even out in stages as Seunghyun's fingers framed his face._

 

“ _Don't be sorry,” Seunghyun whispered back, lips tilting into a soft smile. “Are you all right?”_

 

_Jiyong nodded and those fingers slid away to bury themselves in deep pockets. He ignored the way his stomach twisted because he missed the contact and tried to find somewhere to look that wasn't Seunghyun but he was everywhere._

 

“ _Thank you.” Jiyong's hands tore through his hair and he laughed at himself, embarrassed._

 

_Seunghyun stayed close, gaze never leaving his face. “What happened?”_

 

_He crossed his arms and chose to fixate on one of the toggles on the boy's jacket. Jiyong opened his mouth only to close it again, throat constricting as he swallowed._

 

“ _I– can we...can we not?” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced up. Seunghyun was still staring at him with so much concern and it was making him anxious, just for entirely different reasons._

 

“ _Yeah.”_

 

“ _Okay.” Jiyong shook his hands out and gestured lamely towards the hectic bustling of the diner. “I'm gonna...go.”_

 

_Dipping his head, Seunghyun stepped back to let him pass. On unsteady legs, he walked directly behind the counter and poured himself a glass of water, gulping it all down at once. Jesus, how many times was he going to be rescued by his knight in shining armor? Always swooping in at just the right moment. It was bizarre. And Jiyong was too out of it to think about the universe sending signals or whatever. Besides, he had tables to wait. With another heavy sigh, he tossed the cup in with the other dirty dishes and returned to his job. Anna gave him an exasperated look and he waved her off. They'd talk later._

 

_Seunghyun sat at the lunch counter for the rest of the morning, scrawling whatever it was that he always wrote in one of his many notebooks. And even though Jiyong never had the chance to take another break, the fact that Seunghyun was there at all made everything a little less insane. Less stressful._

 

_Better._

 

 

Sometimes, they didn't talk at all –

 

_Jiyong curled up against the window, legs drawn up and chin resting on his knees as he read. Seunghyun mirrored him on the other side of the booth, engrossed in his own book. It had become their habit; sitting together in comfortable silence late at night when the diner was empty and Jiyong had nothing else to do. But tonight he couldn't get through more than a few sentences without losing his place, mind replaying the incident days ago when the boy had saved him from the claws of anxiety. He remembered the sensation of Seunghyun's hands, his magic touch, and blushed profusely. Jiyong stole a quick glance to see if he'd noticed, but Seunghyun's attention was wholly devoted to the story on the brittle, yellowed pages in his lap._

 

 _Somehow, over the course of the month, they'd formed a version of friendship. Maybe it was more than that, he didn't know. Jiyong let his hands drop, book laying abandoned at his feet, and he turned his head to study Seunghyun. To study the slope of his nose and the swell of his eyelashes; the crease of his forehead and the slight parting of his lips. Jiyong hugged his legs and released a careful breath. He'd never actively made the decision to let Seunghyun win, but it had happened regardless. Because he didn't want to run anymore. Because he – because he_ liked _Seunghyun and hated that he liked him, but that stupid giddy swirling in his chest refused to go away and he was done. Jiyong was done fighting. He was no match for Seunghyun's awful jokes, his odd sense of loyalty, his smiles, and the way his eyes lit up when he laughed. Jiyong liked the way his mind worked, liked his thoughts and his ideas. Except for his sister, he'd never known anyone that he could talk to about the things he loved; the books he loved, the words he cherished. Seunghyun was offering Jiyong something that he'd never had before. He just wondered if he'd ever be brave enough to take it._

 

“ _What?” Seunghyun's question startled him and he realized he'd been caught staring._

 

_Jiyong's eyes widened and he looked away, uttering a quick, “Nothing.”_

 

_The bell above the door jingled then, bringing with it a middle-aged man bundled in a thick coat; worn, leather briefcase gripped in one of his hands. Jiyong unfolded his limbs, thankful for the escape, and left the table to seat him. But even as he politely listened to the older man prattle on about his shitty day, Jiyong could see Seunghyun watching him from the other end of the diner and it made his heart race._

 

_*_

 

On the final night of November, Jiyong nodded off at their table while Seunghyun worked on a paper for his AP English class, lulled to sleep by the sound of graphite on paper and Leroy's crooning in the kitchen. Head pillowed on top of his arms, he floated on the edge of unconsciousness for what seemed like years. Noises filtered into his ears, muffled and distorted and at some point he thought he must be dreaming because he heard female voices but he knew the diner was empty and Seunghyun would have woken him up if it wasn't. Jiyong cycled through levels of awareness, always flirting with deep slumber and being pulled out of its clutches just before he went under. He shifted, moving further onto the table, and settled. The voices returned and he frowned. They were familiar, yet he couldn't place them. Jiyong made a little frustrated grumbling sound and that's when he felt something delicately sift through the hairs at his temple. Fingertips? It felt like fingertips. The repetitive motion continued and it soothed his frustration until he relaxed again, muscles going slack. Jiyong hummed as the caresses branched out to the back of his head and the nape of his neck. It was lovely. And in a matter of seconds he was out cold.

 

Jerking awake, Jiyong groaned and lifted his cement block of a head, blinking dazedly. He glared at Seunghyun who was reading quietly across from him.

 

“You weren't supposed to let me fall asleep,” he croaked, kicking him in the foot.

 

Seunghyun looked at him reproachfully over the edge of the book in his hands, but it was ruined by the smirk that toyed with the corners of his mouth.

 

“I didn't have the heart. You obviously needed it.”

 

“What time is it?” Jiyong drooped back down onto the table top, too tired to check the clock.

 

“After four, I think.”

 

He bolted upright at that and smushed his cheeks, groaning again. “Seriously?”

 

“Don't freak out, Heather took care of everything when she came in,” Seunghyun informed him calmly, eyes trained on the words in his book. “We all decided it was best to let you sleep.”

 

“Oh, so it was a unanimous vote to let me drool all over myself.” Jiyong's tongue had transformed into a slab of useless muscle, every syllable a slow battle. He yawned and shook his head to clear it of fatigue. “That makes it  _so_  much better.”

 

“It was cute.”

 

He laughed outright and subjected Seunghyun to a withering stare. “ _Cute?_ ”

 

But the boy just pretended to glare back, humor shining through his narrowed eyes as he lay his book to rest on the table. Jiyong tried to prevent himself from blushing, Seunghyun's playful expression setting off warning sirens in his brain and a storm of nervous energy in his body. Clenching his jaw, he looked over to find Viv, Heather, and Leroy standing behind the counter conversing in hushed tones. Viv was sending them surreptitious glances and  _giggling_  which meant they were probably talking about him. About him and Seunghyun. Jiyong had known them long enough to guess that they'd already started planning his fucking wedding. When Heather winked at him, his suspicions were confirmed and he rolled his eyes, getting up to pull on his jacket.

 

“Do you want a ride home?” Seunghyun asked, zipping up his backpack and giving a wave of farewell to The Three Stooges as they left.

 

“No. No, I think I'm gonna walk.” He fastened the snaps on his coat, stuffing his hands in his pockets and watching the boy throw his bag into the backseat of his Honda.

 

Seunghyun slammed the door shut, locking the car with a press of a button, and approached Jiyong where he was balancing on the edge of the curb. Jiyong studied him, his striking features illuminated by the golden light of the sign above the diner. He thought about the first night he spoke to Seunghyun at their booth by the window. And about how much had changed since then.  _Three months_. Seunghyun's dark eyes caught the glow of the neon bulbs and Jiyong couldn't turn away.

 

“Can I come with?”

 

Seunghyun's hopeful question broke the spell, his voice eradicating some of the cold that had begun to seep into his bones. Jiyong smiled, lowering his gaze to examine their feet and tilting forward just a little bit.

 

“Don't you ever get tired of being with me?” He muttered.

 

Stealing a peek at Seunghyun, he was hit with one of the boy's sweet, luminous grins; the kind that made his heart feel like it was failing, and he had to draw his lower lip between his teeth to restrain one of his own.

 

“Nope,” came Seunghyun's clipped but gleeful reply and he ruffled Jiyong's hair before starting off across the parking lot.

 

It took a second for him to follow, too caught up in the fuzziness in his head and the way his stomach was filling with lazy butterflies. But when he fell in line next to Seunghyun, the sync of their footsteps echoing off the pavement, he kept close. Their bodies swayed into one another as they walked – arms knocking and knuckles grazing – and a strong wind picked up, whistling through the naked branches of the trees. The quiet of early morning enveloped them and he listened to the distant chirping of birds and the shared sound of their breathing.

 

“So, I've been meaning to ask...” he said, interrupting their easy silence and tapping a cigarette from his pack while Seunghyun did the same. “How come you're never at home?”

 

“Ah. Yeah.” Seunghyun heaved a sigh, lighting the tip of his Marlboro and sucking smoke into his lungs.

 

Jiyong watched him take three more drags, the boy's eyes trained on the sidewalk but he was somewhere else entirely, lost in his own headspace. He almost thought Seunghyun wouldn't respond. Which was unusual because he always did. Always shared. Always gave of himself freely. Jiyong nibbled on his lip, flicking ash onto the cement. Had he struck a nerve?

 

“My dad isn't around much,” Seunghyun continued eventually, features pensive and voice low. His eyes traveled from the sidewalk to Jiyong and then he took another drag. “He says it's because of business, but I don't believe him. I don't think my mom believes him either, which is why she spends most of her time drinking.” He shrugged, lips quirking as he spoke around the filter of his cigarette. “So I prefer to be...elsewhere. It hasn't felt like home in years, anyway. And like I said, I'm easily overlooked.”

 

Jiyong processed all of this carefully; it explained some things and invited more questions about others, but for once he didn't want to pry. He wondered how lonely Seunghyun really was and leaned into the boy without thinking about it.

 

“I don't think that's true,” he murmured and Seunghyun's laughter drifted into his ears.

 

“You had no idea I existed until that fateful day on the stairs, don't even try to butter me up, Kwon.” The boy was smiling now and he nudged Jiyong in the shoulder.

 

“I'm not–” Jiyong scoffed, shoving back. “I'm just gonna stop being nice to you.”

 

One of Seunghyun's thick, inky eyebrows was arched as he looked down at him in mock disbelief.

 

“You were being nice?”

 

His jaw went slack and he actually sort of whined because he had been serious and now Seunghyun was making fun of him for it.

 

Jiyong huffed. “Not only are you weird but you're annoying as fuck.”

 

“Must be why you like me so much,” Seunghyun drawled and let out a lilting chuckle when Jiyong shoved him again. “Anyway, what about you and Dami?”

 

Jiyong faltered, wanting to respond but not sure how. He hadn't really thought about having to answer this question. Even though it had been inevitable, Seunghyun being who he was. But five o'clock in the morning on an empty sidewalk didn't feel like the best setting for his pathetic sob story. He would tell him later. Maybe. Maybe he'd never be ready. Jiyong took one last pull from his cigarette and tossed it out onto the street.

 

“Let's save that particular anecdote for another time.”

 

Seunghyun stared at him for a long moment and then nodded, staying silent. Neither of them said anything else, just allowed their legs to carry them forward through the early morning chill. Jiyong tried not to sink into the depressing whirlpool of his thoughts. Had he been alone, that would've been a given, but Seunghyun's elbow bumped his and the boy offered him a mellow smile. A smile meant for only him. Jiyong ducked his head and praised all deities ever for not letting his cheeks flush with a traitorous heat.

 

They rounded the corner onto his street and Seunghyun sent his cigarette butt flying into the gutter as they crossed to the other side. His building was dark, save for the yellow light in the tiny foyer at the bottom of the stairs. He lingered on the walkway and slipped his hands into his coat pockets.

 

“Jiyong...” Seunghyun said quietly, still standing close. Still smiling.

 

Jiyong swallowed as his eyes roamed over Seunghyun's face and down to the toggles on his jacket. There was always this unbearable sense of intimacy when they were alone; on the stairs at school, at the diner, standing in front of his door like he was being dropped off after a date. His pulse fluttered against the insides of his wrists at the implications of that comparison.

 

“Seunghyun,” he returned with a soft laugh but it got caught in his throat.

 

“This, uh, might seem random, but...do you smoke pot?”

 

Laughing fully, he grinned up at Seunghyun. “I haven't in a while.”

 

“Would you be interested in splitting a joint with me?” The boy asked through a matching grin.

 

“Such a proper invitation, how can I resist?” Jiyong bit down on his lip, but his smile never faltered and he glanced at the three or four inches that separated the tips of their shoes. “I don't work tomorrow anyway, this is the perfect end to the month from hell.” Lifting his chin, he looked Seunghyun in the eye and added teasingly, “Present company excluded.”

 

That won him another bright smile, his heart beating a bit faster now with the knowledge that their time together wouldn't expire yet. Jiyong couldn't remember when he'd gotten so attached but he wasn't going to think about that too much because it would only make him more nervous.

 

“Your sister's probably sleeping though, right?”

 

He nodded, pulling his keys out. “Yeah, but we can go up on the roof. Come on.”

 

Jiyong lead him around the side of the building to the back entrance, unlocking the door and climbing the staircase all the way to the top, their footsteps loud in the enclosed space. Both of their chests were heaving when they reached the final landing and they exchanged tired laughter at their own expense. Jiyong sighed and pushed his way out onto the roof, letting Seunghyun pass before wedging a block of wood in the door so it wouldn't lock behind them. Loose gravel crunched underneath the soles of their shoes as they wandered nearer to the edge, observing the leafless treetops and sloped roofs and the dense blanket of gray clouds above. The stillness of morning closed in around them and it almost seemed like they were the only two people left in the world. Their eyes met and darted away. Jiyong sniffed, wiping at his nose. The cold air was making it run.

 

Seunghyun's hand disappeared into the breastpocket of his open coat, retrieving a small, orange prescription bottle and shaking out a pre-wrapped joint. The boy tucked the bottle back in his pocket and then he lit it, inhaling steady and deep. Jiyong could hear the rolling paper crackle as the cherry glowed brightly in his fingers. Seunghyun exhaled, coughing once, and extended his hand to Jiyong. He pinched the joint between his thumb and middle finger and brought it to his mouth.

 

The heady smoke curled thickly in his lungs as he held it there, letting it out in a single breath when he no longer could. Jiyong licked his lips, overly conscious of the way Seunghyun was watching him.

 

“Shit.” He laughed a little, knocking the ash onto the gravel as he surrendered to the creep of his high. “This is really good. Where'd you get it?”

 

Jiyong passed the joint to Seunghyun and the tips of the boy's fingers grazed his.

 

“A kid I used to hang out with, he graduated three years go,” Seunghyun said, kicking at one of the loose stones at their feet.

 

“You had a  _friend_?”

 

Jiyong narrowly avoided getting thwacked in the arm and he stumbled away from Seunghyun, mouth cracking into a broad grin as he chuckled.

 

“Boyfriend, actually,” Seunghyun corrected him, turning his gaze to the rooftops again. Jiyong's grin melted into nonexistence and his brow knotted. “Or friend with benefits...it wasn't much of a relationship.” Making a vague gesture of indifference with his hand, Seunghyun took another hit and looked back at Jiyong. He smirked, muttering a sarcastic, “Shocking, I know.”

 

Shocking was one way of putting it. He attempted to arrange this new piece of information, to fit it in with all the others he'd already collected but it felt weird. And he didn't like that it felt weird. Jiyong frowned. There was too much he didn't know about Seunghyun's life and he realized he didn't like that either.

 

“Well, I–”

 

Seunghyun cut him off. “It's okay,” he said, passing Jiyong the joint and reaching up to adjust the beanie on his head. “You don't have to say anything.”

 

So he didn't. Jiyong closed his eyes, sucking in the fragrant smoke, and just concentrated on getting stoned instead of on Seunghyun's older, pot-dealing ex-boyfriend and Seunghyun's butterfly-inducing stares and how Seunghyun gravitated towards him whenever he took more than a few steps away; always closing the gap until there almost wasn't any distance at all. Their silence was a little more strained than usual as they finished off the joint. Jiyong succumbed to the peak of his high and let it saturate all of his senses; let it mute the overwhelming feeling of Seunghyun's constant proximity. If he wasn't blazed as fuck he'd probably be a lot less relaxed, but as it was, he managed to ignore his buzzing nerves and the way he'd stopped giving a shit about personal space.

 

“Why don't you like school?” Seunghyun asked, tone hushed because they were shoulder to shoulder, the boy's voice seeming even deeper and it rumbled right through him.

 

Jiyong snorted and looked up at the lightening sky, dark gray turning to ashy blue with the rising of the sun.

 

“Are we really having this conversation again?”

 

“We sure are.”

 

He sighed, sparing Seunghyun a sideways glance as he rocked back onto his heels, brain churning to formulate an answer.  _Might as well get this over with._ “I think it's a fucking joke. And I don't want to go to college,” Jiyong said.

 

“What do you  _want_  to do, then?” Seunghyun pressed, clearly not willing to surrender his curiosity.

 

“Drop out. Work. Take care of Dami.” He didn't even have to think about it because he'd made up his mind ages ago. Jiyong fisted his hands in his pockets, angling his body towards Seunghyun as he continued, focusing on the ground. “She, um, she never got to finish her undergrad. I wanted to save money, help her go back to school.”

 

He'd never admitted this before, not to his sister or anyone else. Saying it out loud was strange and he freed a hand to slide it through his hair.

 

“But I can't do that until I'm finished, which could be like, years from now at the rate I'm going. Besides, they'd probably kick me out before I even came close to graduating,” Jiyong muttered.

 

“You're so smart though,” Seunghyun said, voice growing in volume and certainty when Jiyong tried to interject. “Really you are. This shit should be easy for you.”

 

Scowling, he moved to stand in front of the boy, staring him down with an indignant heat that he felt everywhere. Seunghyun stared right back.

 

“I don't care if it's  _easy_. That's not the point.”

 

“But if you applied yourself you'd practically be done already,” Seunghyun countered, exasperated. Jiyong had never seen him like this and it fueled his own irritation.

 

Jiyong rolled his eyes. “Oh, if I  _applied_ myself, sure. Like that changes anything.”

 

“Why are you so against this?” Seunghyun demanded.

 

“Why are you so hellbent on pissing me off?”

 

“I'm not trying to piss you off, I'm just trying to understand. And you keep acting like I'm out to get you.”

 

“Seunghyun–” he stopped himself and pinched the bridge of his nose. His anger had come out of left field and he really  _really_  didn't want to be angry at Seunghyun. The pleasant, cotton-ball haze that had blanketed him was all but demolished now. Stepping forward, Jiyong got right up in the boy's face and said, “You push a lot, y'know? Why do you push me?”

 

“Because I want you to push back,” Seunghyun almost whispered, eyes glimmering with determination. “And I think you like hiding a little too much.”

 

He gave a low growl of annoyance, shoving Seunghyun in the chest and throwing his hands in the air. Sometimes he wanted to punch Seunghyun. Sometimes Jiyong wanted to cling to him, to wrap himself up in his honesty and his goodness and abandon his own fear of letting this fantastic fucking idiot get under his skin. But really, Seunghyun was already there.  _He's already there._

 

Jiyong paced across the roof, disturbing the smooth stones and making them clack sharply against one another. He breathed unsteadily and tried to compose himself but he was so alive right now. So full of so many things. Jiyong advanced on Seunghyun who had been waiting silently for him to find his voice. The boy stared into his eyes and he almost lost his courage because all he could see was patience and a desperate sort of longing. His heart was pounding against his ribcage and his voice shook when he finally spoke, but it wasn't in anger.

 

“You're so convinced that I'm like, this worthwhile thing,” Jiyong's throat tightened painfully and he kept going. “But I'm nothing, Seunghyun. I'm–”

 

“Would you fucking  _stop_  that?” Seunghyun exploded, gripping him by the arms and walking him backwards towards the center of the roof. “Jesus. You are not nothing, you are so far from nothing. You don't see yourself at all, do you?”

 

Jiyong forced himself not to run away, even though he felt like he was about to fall to pieces. His eyelids drifted shut and he sighed through his nose. He'd asked for this, hadn't he?

 

Gazing up at Seunghyun, he spoke with defiance. “Then tell me what you see.”

 

Seunghyun's hands slid up from his arms to cup his face and Jiyong held his breath.

 

“I see a boy who could be so much more than what he allows himself to be and who is trying so hard not to let the world know how scared he is. I see a boy who is impulsive and headstrong and kind and–” his voice cracked. “And loving and foolish and beautiful and so fucking brilliant. Jiyong, I see you,” Seunghyun said with quiet intensity, thumbs sweeping over his cheeks. “I see you.”

 

And Jiyong lost it, the burn of tears too much to withstand, and he let them leak from the corners of his eyes. His face twisted into a grimace and he broke free of Seunghyun's hold, tripping over the loose stones and furiously wiping the moisture away.

 

“You– ” Jiyong gasped and rubbed at his eyes. “Shit.” Why did he always cry in front of Seunghyun? Why did it always seem like his chest was going to cave in from all the things this boy made him feel? More tears spilled over, coating his cheeks. A hand landed heavily on his shoulder and Jiyong gritted his teeth. “God, you asshole. I– ”

 

“Ji–”

 

But Jiyong had silenced Seunghyun, diving forward to snake his arms underneath the boy's jacket and coil them around his waist tightly. He burrowed into the curve of his neck, sniffling, and without another word Seunghyun pulled him closer – hugging him just as tight if not tighter. Gentle fingers stroked the back of his head and he exhaled roughly, his reluctance going with it. There was no keeping Seunghyun out, not anymore.

 

Jiyong clutched at the material of the boy's hoodie and melted against him. Because it was perfect. And he didn't know until right then just how much he'd needed it; how much he'd needed to be pushed, to hear those words...needed Seunghyun. He wasn't sure he believed all of it himself, but the reverence in Seunghyun's eyes had hit him so hard.

 

Leaning away, Jiyong looked up and watched his mouth curve into an apologetic smile.

 

“I didn't mean to make you cry,” Seunghyun murmured, lifting a hand to brush the remnants of tears from Jiyong's face.

 

He shook his head, mumbling, “It's fine.” And with another deep sigh he tugged Seunghyun close again, pressing his forehead into the boy's chest. “I'm sorry I'm so difficult.”

 

The response he got was not one he'd expected. In place of speaking, Seunghyun tilted Jiyong's head back and planted a sweet, lingering kiss to his temple. His breath hitched, fingers digging into the boy's waist as he was flooded with a prickling warmth.  _Oh_. Jiyong's mouth fell open and his eyes closed and Seunghyun just nuzzled into his hair slightly before drawing him into his arms. He felt the steady beating of Seunghyun's heart in his hands when he flattened them against his back. Jiyong's own was still pounding away inside of him. This thing that was developing between them, this thing he could put a name to but wouldn't, it intimidated him more than everything else. Because it was new and intense and exciting and Jiyong was totally bewildered by how much he wanted it.

 

The November air grew a little sharper, cutting through his layers, but he couldn't move. He was too busy committing Seunghyun's scent to memory; cigarettes, laundry detergent, and the unmistakable aroma of grease that permeated the diner. It was no surprise, Seunghyun was always there. A slow smile spread across Jiyong's face and he pressed it against the side of Seunghyun's neck. The arms around his shoulders squeezed and he felt those tender lips at the curve of his ear. A small tremor shook him but he couldn't tell if it was from the temperature or the gust of breath over his skin.

 

“We should go inside.”

 

“Not yet,” Jiyong replied, yawning as he tried to bury himself more permanently in Seunghyun's embrace.

 

Seunghyun's faint laughter tickled his ear. “I think it's time to put you to bed.”

 

Which only made him think about curling up under the covers with Seunghyun, their legs tangled and his arms around Jiyong's waist, and suddenly he wasn't so cold anymore. He inhaled, giving himself permission to savor this; the contact, the solid comfort of Seunghyun's body. Jiyong knew that when he woke up later things would be different. But he wouldn't worry about that yet.

 

“Just a few more minutes,” he mumbled and held him tighter, unwilling to relinquish even a centimeter of space until he was ready.

 

Seunghyun's chest expanded in his arms as he sighed, fingers sinking into Jiyong's shoulders like he'd had no intention of letting go anyway, and whispered, “Okay.”


	7. Chapter 7

With his chin in his hand, Jiyong turned towards the windows of his English classroom, staring at nothing while Ms. Harper droned on and on in the background. He was thousands of miles away, thinking about Seunghyun. About how this would be easier if he could just shut down and walk away even though he knew he wasn't actually capable of doing that. Seunghyun had come to inhabit some of the empty spaces inside of his chest and that didn't make him as uncomfortable as he thought it would. It did make him a little desperate, though. Jiyong hadn't talked to Seunghyun since Saturday morning, but the fact that the boy was forever on his mind kind of made it seem like he was still there; felt, but not seen. It was Wednesday now and finals were around the corner and he suspected Seunghyun was busy being a model student instead of wasting time with him. Because he hadn't been at the side entrance during lunch either and Jiyong felt nauseous just from wondering where he was; felt needy and stupid and so goddamned nervous.

 

A few brave snowflakes began to spiral down from the clouds and Jiyong observed their slow migration until the edge of the window prevented it. He trapped his bottom lip between his teeth and there was a twinge in his brow from being furrowed for so long. He'd been spoiled by the last month. Having Seunghyun with him every single day had ruined him and he didn't even notice until he'd gone five days without hearing his voice. Without hearing him sigh and hearing him laugh. He figured the time spent apart would have helped him sort through the jumble of emotions and thoughts and questions, but really it just made him feel infinitely more crazy. Jiyong was finally willing to admit that he  _wanted_  to be around the other boy. However, it was the severity of the want that he couldn't quite own up to, even in his head.

 

More snow fell from the sky, flakes growing in thickness and number as the afternoon light dimmed and turned gray through the trees.

 

“Mr. Kwon,” Ms. Harper called, rousing him from his thoughts. She was smirking in that condescending way that always drove him insane, because she acted like she was teaching in a college lecture hall instead of a shitty public high school.

 

“Yes, Caroline, how may I be of service?” Jiyong replied politely, taking great pleasure in pushing her buttons.

 

He watched her spine stiffen slightly as she paced back and forth in front of the blackboard. The rest of the class was dead silent, waiting for the carnage to unfold. They were reviewing Catcher in the Rye for finals, which Jiyong had read years ago and still didn't like. Also it was kind of ridiculous that they were reading it now. She should be making them study Plath and Dickens and Orwell, not Salinger. This shit was child's play.

 

“Would you be so kind to explain for us the significance of the Museum of Natural History as it pertains to Holden's character?”

 

Ms. Harper was so sure that she'd make a fool out of him because he never participated unless she forced him to, never brought anything with him to class; he didn't even carry a backpack. But usually Jiyong aced the pop quizzes and handed in passable essays when he felt like it. She should know better than to set him up, but she couldn't resist.

 

Jiyong leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest and sighed heavily.

 

“It represents his aversion to change; in himself and in the world around him,” he stated, completely bored. “And I quote, “The best thing, though, in that museum was that everything always stayed right where it was. Nobody’d move. . . . Nobody’d be different. The only thing that would be different would be you.”. Even the word choice of “you” instead of “me” shows his desire to distance himself from the concept of change. Holden can't deal with the fact that nothing stays as it is, that nothing is as simple as he wants it to be. Because he fears what he does not understand.”

 

Someone let out a low whistle on the other side of the room and a few of the kids snickered. Ms. Harper looked about ready to smack him. Jiyong gave her an insincere smile and turned his attention back to the window, fidgeting with the the sleeve of his blue zip-up.

 

“You think you're so much better than the rest of us. Isn't that right, Kwon?”

 

He rolled his eyes. “Victor, shut up.”

 

But Victor just scoffed, slouched at his desk one row over, legs splayed out and a neon snapback perched at an angle on his head.

 

“Oh look, the little faggot finally talks back,” the boy taunted.

 

Ms. Harper was either oblivious to the exchange or was choosing not to acknowledge it, because she continued to write something on the blackboard with yellow chalk in her atrocious, looping cursive. Jiyong tossed Victor a glare, knuckles going white as he gripped the edge of his desk. He sensed several pairs of eyes watching them from around the room. Everyone was always so thirsty for bloodshed.

 

“I'll do a lot more than that if you don't fucking knock it off.”

 

“Just like last time?” Victor leaned closer across the aisle, cocky sneer painted on his round face and eyes narrowed. “If I remember correctly I left you in a pool of your own blood.”

 

Jiyong laughed, his mirth fading into a drawn-out sigh as he stared at the boy with a peacefulness he didn't really feel. His fingers itched to curl into hard fists. He wanted to send them singing through the air and right into Victor's big, infuriating mouth.

 

“That's funny, y'know, because as  _I_  recall, I kicked in you in the balls and you rolled around on the pavement crying like a little bitch while your “boys” did all the work.” Jiyong's lips slanted into a smirk. “Because you're pathetic.”

 

Victor was already half-way out of his seat, ready to slam Jiyong's head against the wall. “I'm gonna fuckin–”

 

“Mr. Perez, Mr. Kwon, that's enough.” Ms. Harper said, stern and authoritative. She eyed Jiyong carefully and put her hands flat on her desk. “Please be quiet or I'll send you both to the principal's office.”

 

They eased into their chairs reluctantly and she moved on with her pointless lesson plan. But Jiyong could still feel the anger rippling off of Victor where he'd sunk into a strained hunch. The boy had daggers in his eyes and Jiyong realized that he was looking forward to the next round. Because with punks like Victor there always would be and Jiyong had become too comfortable with his own antagonistic nature not to keep coming back for more. There was just something about winding someone up and watching them dance.

 

Before class ended, Jiyong chose to skip eighth period. It was gym, anyway, and as tempting as it was to have the opportunity to hurl inanimate objects at other people, he wasn't in the mood. So when the bell rang he was the first one out of his seat, heading straight for the library because he couldn't decide where else to go. Maybe he'd find a book worth reading and  _not_  think about Seunghyun for more than five minutes. Jiyong carded his fingers through his hair and laughed at himself as he walked through the doors, squinting underneath the harsh, fluorescent lights.  _Wouldn't that be lovely?_ Making a beeline for Fiction, he chose a row of shelves at random and let his gaze wander over worn, fraying covers.

 

“Are you lost?” A deep voice floated into his ear and he whirled around with his palm pressed firmly to his chest, heart squeezing out an uneven rhythm as he stared into Seunghyun's sparkling, brown eyes.

 

“Jesus,” Jiyong hissed, punching the boy in the arm once he'd remembered how to move. Seunghyun winced and emitted a low chuckle, rubbing at the abused limb. He took a step closer and shoved him again. “Where the hell have you been?”

 

Smiling down at him, Seunghyun reached over his head to replace the book he'd been holding and then tipped against the shelves with a sigh. “Studying,” he said quietly. “Something I believe you know nothing about.”

 

Jiyong pretended to be unamused, muttering a soft, “jerk” and hiding his smirk by kicking at the tip of Seunghyun's shoe with his boot. Seunghyun chuckled again and the sound curled around him, breaking up the tension in his muscles as he relaxed into the shelves, their shoulders pressed together firmly. He let his eyes close; let the weirdly insular bubble that always encircled them block out everything else. Jiyong forgot about so much so often because Seunghyun dominated almost all of his regular brain functions. The butterflies in his stomach were doing barrel rolls and he chewed at the inside of his mouth, still nervous but okay with that fact because it would most likely never change.

 

“Aren't you supposed to be in class right now?” Seunghyun asked as he leaned into Jiyong.

 

“Yeah, I didn't feel like going,” he murmured, allowing the backs of his fingers to brush Seunghyun's hand.

 

“Jiyong,” came the admonishing reply.

 

“What?” He huffed, eyelids sliding open as he turned to pin Seunghyun with a challenging stare. “The world's not gonna end if I miss out on forty-two minutes of fucking dodgeball.”

 

But his irritation was difficult to hold onto when Seunghyun was looking at him like that; radiating a myriad of sentiments that caused the butterflies to nosedive to the pit of his stomach. Jiyong's eyes swept lower over nose and mouth and a strange heat crackled underneath his skin.  _Why are you doing this to me?_  He breathed shallowly and watched as Seunghyun smiled again; just a gentle spread of full lips, and suddenly it was too much. Immediately he stared down at the hideous, puke-orange carpet and waited for his heart to stop parading around in circles.

 

Clearing his throat, Jiyong folded his arms and then stuttered, “Are you, uh...a-are you coming to Frankie's tonight?”

 

Seunghyun continued staring at him and Jiyong noticed him smirk from the corner of his eye. “I haven't decided. You're kind of...distracting.”

 

Jiyong snorted and with the way his cheeks were tingling he knew he must be blushing. Lifting his head, he scowled. “I am not.”

 

The rolling lilt of Seunghyun's laughter erupted in the open space of the library and Jiyong almost expected to be violently shushed by one of the older women who ran the circulation desk. Groaning, the boy pushed away from the shelves and shook his head, eyebrow arched and lips twitching as he struggled to reign in his hilarity.

 

“It's really adorable that you're so oblivious,” Seunghyun said, ruffling Jiyong's hair as he passed.

 

Oblivious? Oblivious to _what?_  Jiyong trailed after him, finding the boy at one of the work tables where he had spread out textbooks and study packets and endless pages of notes. Seunghyun lowered himself into his chair and glanced up, eyes so bright as he dissolved into another fit of laughter. It wasn't supposed to be endearing because he was  _laughing at him_  but Jiyong couldn't help but be charmed by the display. Which was annoying. On too many fucking levels.

 

Hip cocked against the edge of the table, he sighed. “Well, I don't wanna  _distract_  you, so I'm leaving.”

 

This announcement sobered Seunghyun instantly, one of his hands shooting out to grab Jiyong's wrist before he could take more than a single step.

 

“No, stay,” Seunghyun urged. “Please.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

Seunghyun nodded, mouth curling at the corners. “Yeah.”

 

And the hand on his wrist tugged until Jiyong plopped into the seat next to him. Seunghyun's grip lingered, holding him there as though he would flee the first chance he got. The boy's thumb absently rubbed over the hard peak of his wristbone as he rearranged some of his notes and Jiyong shifted, extricating himself and bending over the table to tuck his head into the crook of his elbow. If Seunghyun kept touching him, he didn't know what he'd do. Decompose, burst into flames. He was already close enough to the latter that he wasn't terribly interested in finding out. Jiyong watched him shuffle papers and stuff things into folders. The extent of organization was mind-boggling.

 

“You really enjoy this, don't you.”

 

Seunghyun grinned and his movements stilled. “I like learning things,” he explained, head tilting to the side. “Studying, not so much. But I suck at tests which makes it a necessary evil.”

 

He laughed, shifting his leg until it connected with Seunghyun's under the table. Jiyong wanted to hit himself. Because he couldn't stop seeking out some form of contact even though it made him feel like he was drowning. The wings in his stomach rustled when Seunghyun's thigh flattened snugly against his.

 

“I'm sure you do just fine,” Jiyong assured, gaze falling to the table to study those long fingers.

 

“Is this you being nice again?” Seunghyun teased and pressed the rings of a small binder shut with a metallic snap before setting it aside.

 

“Maybe.”

 

Seunghyun smirked and leaned forward, chin cupped in his hand as he turned to face Jiyong. There was a moment of shared staring, the warmth of Seunghyun's thigh seeping through the layer of his jeans, and for once he didn't lose his nerve; forcing himself to endure the knowing glint in the boy's eyes and the giddy skipping of his own pulse.

 

“I'm sorry I've been so elusive. I meant to come see you, but all of this got in the way,” Seunghyun said, gesturing with his chin to the pile of textbooks.

 

“It's all right, I forgive you.”

 

And Seunghyun gave him a lazy smile, something Jiyong had noticed was far too easy to make him do.

 

“Was it nuts on Sunday?”

 

“Mhmm,” he hummed.

 

The library was relatively hushed, only the sound of the occasional cough or book being slammed shut in irritation. But he barely heard anything other than Seunghyun's calm baritone as it wove its magic spell and lulled him into a rare state of contentment. Jiyong's eyelids were becoming heavy, thoughts coming slower.

 

He felt Seunghyun slide a bit nearer, voice pitching a bit lower. “And were you anxiety free?”

 

“Yes,” Jiyong breathed, eyes closing as Seunghyun reached out to smooth the messy strands of his hair away from his forehead.

 

“Good,” Seunghyun whispered and Jiyong could hear the grin creep across his face.

 

Fingertips traveled lightly over his scalp and he wished Seunghyun would stop because he was going to fall asleep here at the table if he didn't. Jiyong knew in the back of his mind that the boy had been the one to soothe him, just like this, that night at the diner. That night when his world had tilted on its axis and Seunghyun had slipped so cunningly past his defenses.

 

A thumb stroked across the length of his eyebrow, sending the butterflies into a slow panic, and his stomach clenched. He wasn't really sure what it meant that he wasn't fighting this anymore. What it meant for them.  _Us._  Jiyong's heart stumbled and he almost groaned. Seunghyun had turned his brain into cotton candy.

 

“It's not the same when you're not there,” he confessed, glad that his eyes were closed because he wouldn't have had the guts otherwise.

 

“I'll hang out this weekend, I promise.”

 

“You're gonna make me wait two more days?” Jiyong grumbled and lifted his head, blinking down at Seunghyun who had sprawled out on the table next to him.

 

Laughing, Seunghyun sat up and stretched, stifling a yawn. “What did you do before you had me around all the time?” He asked wryly.

 

Jiyong could only shake his head, a faint smile on his lips as he shrugged.

 

“I don't remember.”

 

*

 

Friday came and Jiyong still hadn't managed to make sense of all the things that weighed too heavily on his mind.  _All the things_  being Seunghyun and the way he occupied his every waking thought. Their time spent in the library hadn't been long enough. Tomorrow was hours away. He'd gotten Seunghyun's phone number, at least, and had been sending the boy texts periodically. Jiyong thought about calling him, but he didn't. There were tests to study for and papers to write and he would only end up bothering him. His hand was always in his pocket though, fingers gripping his phone as he waited for the tell-tale vibrations of Seunghyun's responses. He felt a strange pull with every new series of words that popped up on his screen, like something was being uprooted and shifted around inside of him.  _I swear to god I'm losing it._  Jiyong clawed at his face and sighed, loitering outside of the kitchen in the cafeteria as he waited for Colin. The man had offered him a ride home and even though he'd declined, the sweet bastard had insisted on walking him out.

 

“Ready?” Colin asked, emerging from the kitchen with a messenger bag slung across his chest and a wooly hat hugging his head.

 

Jiyong snorted at the little pom-pom that wobbled at the top of the hat every time Colin moved.

 

“What?” The man grinned and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, dragging them out into the hallway.

 

“You look ridiculous in that hat.”

 

“Oh come on now, it's not that bad.” Colin chuckled, holding his chin high as he proclaimed, “I think it makes me look cute.”

 

He rolled his eyes. “Just because that's what the woman at the store told you when you bought it doesn't make it true.”

 

“Little shit.” Colin tightened his arm around Jiyong's neck but he twisted away, snatching the hat from his head and bolting towards the doors. “Hey, give that back!” He heard Colin shout and more laughter bubbled up in his lungs.

 

“Make me.”

 

Jiyong stuck his tongue out as he pushed his way outside into the sharp Winter air, sprinting in the direction of the parking lot to avoid Colin's grasp as the man chased him. His fun ended abruptly when he skidded to a halt on the slick cement to avoid crashing into another person walking towards the building.

 

“Jiyong,” a familiar voice commanded his attention and his eyes widened when he looked up.

 

“Dami,” he panted, brows colliding. “What are you doing here?”

 

She folded her arms and she expelled a tired sigh through her nose. Her mouth was pressed into a thin line and her shoulders were tense; nails digging into the fibers of her coat. Jiyong bit down on his lip, wringing Colin's hat in his fingers. This did not bode well at all.

 

“I got a call from the principal,” Dami said, eyes flicking away briefly when Colin came to stand beside him. “She told me you were skipping again.”

 

“I–“

 

“No, you have no excuses.” Her palm cut through the air between them to emphasize her refusal to hear him speak. She let out another sigh and dumped the extent of her frustration on top of him with a single, piercing look. “There are two weeks,  _two_ , until Winter break, why can't you just behave?” Dami frowned. “What is so fucking hard about this?”

 

Jiyong didn't really have an answer for that. Not one that she'd want to listen to, anyway. He tore his gaze from the overwhelming disappointment etched onto her face and stared at the ground, noticing Colin's uneasiness as he rocked back and forth on his heels. If they didn't have an audience, Dami probably would have said a lot more and he was glad to be spared the brunt of her anger. He probably would have fought back, too, but Colin didn't need to see that. So Jiyong gave her what she wanted.

 

“I'm sorry,” he mumbled.

 

Dami reached out, finger tucked under his chin to force him to make eye-contact. Her thumb swiped over his cheek and her gaze lost some of its hardness.

 

“Prove it,” she said, leaving the rest of her demands unspoken.

 

He nodded, offering her half of a smile but it felt more like a grimace. Colin cleared his throat and Jiyong was thankful for the obvious change in topic, stepping back to gesture at the man.

 

“Oh...um, Dami this is Colin. Colin, meet my sister.”

 

They shook hands and he watched his sister's lips quirk. Colin was all goofy smiles and Jiyong resisted covering his face in embarrassment. He hoped the man was just trying to diffuse the awkward tension and nothing else because if this lead to any kind of flirtatious banter he was going to kill himself.

 

“It's a pleasure,” Colin said, still beaming.

 

Dami laughed as she arched one of her eyebrows. “You don't know that.”

 

“You're related to this idiot, I think it's a pretty safe bet.”

 

Jiyong smacked him in the arm and Colin tsked, stealing his hat back and yanking it low over his ears. Dami's smile widened and she laughed again.  _If there's a god, please fucking strike me down._

 

“Well I won't argue with the first part,” Dami murmured, giving him a faint smirk. “How do you two know each other?”

 

“I manage the kitchen in the cafeteria.” Colin slung an arm around Jiyong's shoulders again and shook him. “We met when he was thirteen and even more annoying than he is now.” The man ground his knuckles against Jiyong's scalp and he yelped, shoving him off. Colin stumbled to the side and giggled. “They grow up so fast.”

 

He flattened his mussed hair and scowled, turning to his sister.

 

“He takes care of me when I get my ass kicked, basically. And he's pretty much the only friend I have here so be nice,” Jiyong said and poked her in the arm for emphasis.

 

Dami pursed her lips. “Word on the street says otherwise.”

 

“Word on the– ” Jiyong's jaw hung open and he almost cackled. They'd been talking about him at the bookstore.  _You sneaky fuck._  “What the hell did he say to you?”

 

“I'll never tell,” she stage-whispered while pretending to pull a zipper across her mouth.

 

Great, so now Seunghyun and his sister were keeping secrets. He'd have to interrogate him tomorrow at Frankie's to make sure they weren't plotting his demise.

 

“Everyone I know is conspiring against me,” Jiyong moaned, grabbing at chunks of his hair. Dami just snorted while Colin stood there chuckling. He sighed and dropped his arms. “So do I need to be present for this meeting or am I free to go?”

 

Dami chewed on her lip as she thought about her answer.  _Please say no, please please please._

 

“You can go,” she conceded, expression turning serious. “But we're not done talking about this.”

 

Scoffing, he looked out over the parking lot. “We're never done talking about this.”

 

“Only you can change that, Ji.”

 

“Yeah, whatever.” Jiyong sighed again, feeling restless and eager to leave. He buttoned up his ratty pea-coat and slapped Colin on the back. “I'll see you on Monday, Col.”

 

“Stay out of trouble.” The man tried to ruffle his hair but he evaded the attack, hopping from the sidewalk to the asphalt.

 

“Have fun flirting with my sister,” Jiyong said brightly. “She loves Thai food, orchids, and over-produced action movies.”

 

“Jiyong!” Dami whirled around, cheeks pink and eyes wide.

 

“You can thank me later,” he called over his shoulder as he walked away, hand raised in farewell.

 

Revenge had never tasted so sweet.

 

*

 

Saturday mornings at Frankie's were probably Jiyong's favorite time to be there. Because it was just busy enough to keep him moving yet not so crowded that he felt overwhelmed. He liked that he didn't have the freedom to let his mind wander, too focused on taking orders and clearing tables. It was easier to allow himself to be distracted by the layers of sound instead of on the fact that it was almost noon and Seunghyun had yet to make an appearance. Jiyong didn't want to think about why, or else his brain wouldn't stop until he'd worked himself up for nothing. Learning to care about someone else was weird. Or rather, learning that he even  _did_  care. Not to say that Colin or his coworkers didn't mean anything to him, but this was different. Seunghyun was different. Jiyong held back a groan and looked at the cat clock on the wall as he made another loop around the diner with two steaming pots of coffee. He smiled openly at the customers – made small talk and listened to them tell stories and bad jokes and actually laughed. He supposed he was sort of different, too. Almost as though some of the weight he'd been carrying for the last six years had lifted and floated away. Jiyong grinned to himself, rounding the counter to return the coffee pots to their rightful place when the bell above the door chimed.

 

“Hey.”

 

Jiyong's grin widened and he lifted his head. “Hey. You're here.”

 

Seunghyun moved closer, leaning on the counter in front of him. Jiyong stared, studying the white squares of his teeth and the bow of his lips as they stretched thin; the happy wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and the rich brown of his irises that seemed more liquid than solid as he took Jiyong in. Timidly, he looked away and then back again, wondering what would happen if he allowed himself to walk over and pull Seunghyun into a hug.

 

“I told you I'd come. Oh, ye of little faith,” the boy murmured.

 

His insides executed a joyful somersault as he opened his mouth to defend himself, but he was being called from the kitchen.

 

“Ji, your order's up!” Aaron's voice boomed through the service window.

 

Jiyong flashed Seunghyun a quick smile and gestured over his shoulder. “I should– I should get that.”

 

“I'm not going anywhere,” Seunghyun said, dark eyes trained on his, and Jiyong felt himself blush for absolutely no reason at all.

 

Spinning on his heel, he made a face at Aaron and grumbled about “perfect timing” as he picked up the heaping plates of greasy breakfast food. The man had recently been hired to give Leroy a break and so far he'd mostly been a colossal pain in Jiyong's ass. But the girls seemed to like him and they definitely did need the help, so his complaints would have to remain unspoken. Aaron smirked at Jiyong from where he stood next to one of the deep fryers and Jiyong merely rolled his eyes. Plates balanced on his arms, he moved carefully around Anna who was filling water glasses. She gave him an exaggerated wink and Jiyong would have tried to cause her bodily harm if not for the food and very smashable dishes in his hands.

 

“You think you're safe, but you're not,” he said as he walked past her.

 

Anna's eyes narrowed. “Do your worst, Kwon.”

 

“Oh, I will. You can be sure of that,” Jiyong vowed as he looked at her over his shoulder. His cheeks were starting to hurt because he was still smiling. _When was the last time I smiled this much?_

 

Though it fell as soon as he turned his head to find Seunghyun hanging his jacket up on the rack by the door. Jiyong froze, plates wobbling precariously, and the world kind of...slowed down. The early afternoon light coming through the windows seemed to wash everything out, details and contours losing their definition. Everything except for him. Seunghyun stopped in the middle of the entryway when he spotted Jiyong gaping. But he was stuck, brain tripping over itself. All he could focus on was the long lines of his body. On the white button-up shirt and tailored, gray dress pants and how weird it was.  _Weird but amazing._  And it was almost like seeing the boy for the very first time. Only different. Because they weren't strangers and Jiyong was just beginning to give meaning to the things he felt when he thought about Seunghyun.

 

“Jiyong?”

 

He blinked rapidly and the noises of the diner surged in his ears all at once, the world returning to its normal speed. “Huh?”

 

“You spaced out,” Seunghyun said, taking a few more steps towards him, clearly amused.

 

“I'm fine.” Jiyong hovered there awkwardly and didn't think about how soft the black cardigan clinging to Seunghyun's lanky frame would feel underneath the pads of his fingers. “I'll be right back.”

 

 _God, I'm so fucking dumb._  He berated himself all the way over to his table, not hearing a single word of thanks from the old man seated with his grandchildren as he set the plates down and automatically asked if they needed anything else. He barely registered their responses and he nodded, smiling distractedly and shuffling back to the front of the diner. Seunghyun was sitting on one of the stools at the lunch counter, notebook already opened and pen in hand. Jiyong watched him slip the black beanie from his head as he ruffled his perfectly coiffed hair into artful disarray. He inhaled slowly, coming to stand beside Seunghyun with his elbow propped on the counter's surface.

 

“Nice threads,” Jiyong stated, thankful for the fact that his voice didn't waver when he spoke.

 

Dropping his gaze, Seunghyun laughed and stared at the pen as he twirled it in his fingers, a faint dusting of pink spreading across his cheekbones.

 

“I was forced to go to a last minute brunch with my aunt and uncle who are in town for a few days,” Seunghyun said, glancing up every now and then. He sighed, setting the pen down on top of his notebook as he swiveled closer, leg pressed against Jiyong's hip. “Of course, my parents never told me this was happening, which meant I got lectured for never listening to them. Sorry for not being here earlier, I came straight from the restaurant.”

 

Shaking his head, Jiyong leaned into the contact and relished the fluttering in his stomach.

 

“You don't have to apologize.”

 

But Seunghyun barreled on. “And I thought about texting you to let you know, but I figured you'd be too busy to check your phone and–“

 

Instinctively, he reached out, his hand latching onto Seunghyun's forearm. The cardigan was softer than he'd imagined and he rubbed his thumb over the material in gentle strokes without thinking about it.

 

“Seunghyun, it's okay,” Jiyong insisted, letting go once he realized what he'd been doing and shoved his hand in the pocket of his apron.

 

Seunghyun threaded his fingers through his hair again and then offered him a small smile. “Okay.” He crossed his arms as he finally looked at Jiyong directly. “How are you?”

 

Jiyong could have responded in a number of ways, every answer that tumbled through his head a variation of something spun from the cotton-candy threads Seunghyun had planted there. He shrugged instead. “Good.”

 

Those liquid, brown eyes honed in on him, glinting with humor.

 

“Are you just saying that?”

 

“No, I'm totally lying. Crazy, right?” He squirmed when Seunghyun jabbed him in the ribs and he laughed, the edge of the counter digging into his back. But he didn't relinquish the contact, instead pushing his hip more firmly against Seunghyun's thigh as he studied him, taking in the lines of exhaustion on his face. “And how are you? Other than tired.”

 

Seunghyun huffed, grinning as he glanced down. One of the boy's arms unfolded and he reached out to tug on the tie of Jiyong's waist apron.

 

“Better, now that I'm here,” Seunghyun said, looking at him from beneath the sweep of his eyelashes and Jiyong felt a new weight draping itself over his shoulders and settling thickly in his gut.

 

“Jiyong, you got another order ready,” Aaron informed him, breaking their bubble for a second time.

 

Seunghyun's hand fell, elbows lifting to rest on the counter. Their shoulders were touching now and when Seunghyun turned his head Jiyong's heart gave an inelegant flop. The hum of the diner went fuzzy, sort of like he was underwater, and he let the weight keep him there for a little while longer.

 

“I guess I should let you do your job.”

 

“My break is in an hour.” His reply sounded distant to his own ears and he cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck to make the tingling stop. “Plus it'll calm down after the lunch rush is over.”

 

“Ji!” The shout from the kitchen startled him and he breathed a short laugh while Seunghyun sat there, lips curved and dimples becoming more prominent by the second.

 

“Go on.” Seunghyun nudged him with his leg, jostling him into an upright position.

 

Jiyong stole one last glance, eyes passing over Seunghyun's face, and he boldly allowed his fingers to drag lightly along the boy's thigh as he left.

 

As the minutes piled up, Jiyong tried really fucking hard to pretend that Seunghyun wasn't there at all. Which was kind of funny considering how much he'd been wishing for his constant presence. Customers came and went in a blur, orders were shouted from the kitchen, and Anna's cheerful laughter always carried above the rest of the noise. But none of it broke through the density of his thoughts.

 

Jiyong knew the weight for what it was; saw its match in Seunghyun's eyes every time their gazes clashed from opposite ends of the diner. Or when Jiyong failed not to stare hopelessly at the boy as he inked unknown words into the pages of his notebook and then lifted his head to find he was being watched.

 

_Longing._

 

Jiyong longed for a lot of things. Things he was afraid to silently articulate, let alone act out. Seunghyun made him  _want._  And he didn't know what to do with that because all of this was still so foreign. Against his better judgment, he leaned on the counter to insinuate himself into Seunghyun's awareness.

 

“What are you always writing about?” He asked. He'd been wondering for months.

 

Seunghyun didn't speak at first, lips pursing and then forming a flat line as he figured out how to answer. Jiyong could almost see the words stitching themselves together in his mind.

 

“Everything.” Seunghyun twirled the pen in his grasp. “Ideas, observations, stories...the occasional poem.”

 

Jiyong gave him a lopsided grin. He should have known.

 

“Am I in there?”

 

Seunghyun hesitated for a moment, the pause stretching thin, and maybe he shouldn't have even asked. But then he offered Jiyong the shiest of smiles and nodded. “You are.”

 

Something expanded inside of Jiyong at the admission. Because it meant Seunghyun was thinking about him enough to warrant writing it down. Jiyong nibbled on his lower lip, index finger extending to trace the corner of the notebook.

 

“Will you– will you show me something you've written sometime?”

 

Looking up at him, Seunghyun chuckled, eyes forming those happy crescents. The ones Jiyong hated and loved in equal parts.

 

“So inquisitive.”

 

“That's rich, coming from you,” he drawled, earning himself a poke in the forehead.

 

He smacked Seunghyun's hand away and the boy laughed again.

 

“I bet you didn't know I was the editor of the school's literary journal.” Seunghyun leaned back, picking up the lump of his beanie and slipping it onto his head. He raised a single, teasing brow.

 

Jiyong stilled, eyes widening slightly. “I– no, you never mentioned it.”

 

Another puzzle piece. Another reason to stop tricking himself into believing that he wasn't interested in Seunghyun in every possible way.  _How are you even real?_  Chin in hand, Jiyong watched him intently, no longer ignoring the way the giddiness attempted to crawl into his mouth and make him say dumb things.

 

“They wouldn't let me do it until I was an upperclassman, but I've been, um, submitting pieces since my freshman year,” the boy continued slowly, fiddling with the pages opened below him as he failed to meet Jiyong's steady gaze. “Most of the shit we get sent is grammatically horrifying and riddled with teenage angst, not like anyone actually reads it. Or cares. We could probably publish a hundred pages of Chuck Norris jokes and nothing would change.”

 

He snorted. “Are there even that many Chuck Norris jokes in existence?”

 

Seunghyun frowned thoughtfully. “I have no idea.”

 

And then they were both laughing, even though he didn't really know what was so funny. What he  _did_  know, was that Seunghyun's laughter was quickly becoming one of his favorite sounds. Jiyong wiped moisture from the corner of his eye and he took a deep breath to collect himself. Anna and Viv were observing them from the other end of the lunch counter, dissolving into secretive giggles when neither of them could keep a straight face. He glowered, but the effect was probably ruined by how much he was blushing. His tendency to wrap himself up in their bizarre little universe meant that he forgot other people might be watching and it made him feel overly self-conscious. Jiyong imagined locking them in his room and never coming out unless they absolutely had to. Because sometimes the idea of doing nothing with Seunghyun – not even speaking, just  _being_  – was the best version of reality he could think of.

 

He checked the cat clock to his right, exhaling a huge sigh of relief to find that it was after one and he could escape all this insanity for at least half an hour.

 

“I'm going out for a smoke,” Jiyong said, staring at the spot where Seunghyun's collarbone was peeking out from under his button-up. He wet his lips and toyed with the edge of his sleeve. “Come with me?”

 

Seunghyun nodded, gifting him with another broad smile. “Yeah, sure.”

 

*

 

“How are you not freezing to death?” Seunghyun asked once they were outside, standing in the alleyway next to the building. “Do you even own a scarf?”

 

“It's not that cold,” Jiyong insisted, suppressing a shiver.

 

“You're crazy. Come here.”

 

Seunghyun beckoned him over with a wave of his hand and Jiyong really didn't need that much incentive to be any closer to him. Long fingers pulled the flaps of his pea coat tighter, sliding the large, round buttons through their respective holes because Jiyong had neglected to do it himself. He studied the furrow of Seunghyun's brow as he did; the way he bit the inside of his mouth when he was concentrating on something. Their breath clouded the few inches of air that separated them and Jiyong felt the damp heat of it on his lips. Seunghyun then produced another knit hat from the depths of his jacket pocket. It was red, the same vibrant hue as the feathers of a cardinal. Jiyong's favorite.

 

“Do you always carry around spare beanies?” He asked.

 

“No...” Seunghyun paused, mouth quirking as he gazed down at Jiyong. “This is for you. To keep.”

 

He averted his eyes. “Oh.”

 

Jiyong barely had a moment to prepare himself before Seunghyun was slipping his fingers into Jiyong's hair and positioning the hat over his head until it covered the tips of his ears. His eyelids drifted shut on their own as Seunghyun's hands slowly moved to frame his face, thumbs dragging across his skin, and he thought he might actually catch fire after all.

 

“You seriously need a haircut,” Seunghyun mumbled and Jiyong laughed, eyes lifting as Seunghyun's arms dropped to his sides.

 

He swayed, suddenly a little dizzy, and rummaged around in his pockets for his Marlboros, eager to think about something else.

 

“I know. Dami usually helps me, but I keep forgetting to ask and she's always busy.”

 

Seunghyun pulled out his own pack. “I could cut it for you.”

 

Eyebrows raised high, Jiyong trapped a cigarette in his teeth and lit it. “You cut hair,” he stated flatly.

 

“Yeah.” Seunghyun tossed him a grin between deep drags of smoke. “I used to do it for Nate, my ex, because he was too lazy and too cheap to go to one of the barbers in town.”

 

How could he forget the dreaded, pot-dealing ex-boyfriend? Jiyong nodded, crunching a small pile of snow under the toe of his boot.

 

“Right.”

 

Wandering further into the alley, he kicked at clumps of white and let the nicotine do its job. Or what was supposed to be its job, but Jiyong didn't feel very relaxed no matter how many times he brought the cigarette to his lips.

 

“I'm sorry,” Seunghyun said, trailing after him and closing the distance until the edges of their shoes grated against one another. He sighed. “I shouldn't– I don't mean to keep bringing him up.”

 

“Don't worry about it.” Jiyong had no right to be jealous. Even though there had been more than one night he'd lost sleep thinking about who this guy was. And if Seunghyun had loved him.

 

He sucked in a slight gasp when the boy leaned forward to gain his attention, dark eyes searching for something – Jiyong didn't know what.

 

“But you obviously do.” Seunghyun's voice was quiet and serious.

 

“I don't.” He flushed, stumbling backwards and shaking his head. “Really, it– I don't care.”

 

“You're still a shitty liar.”

 

Jiyong laughed again, high-pitched and short. “Shut up,” he muttered, moving forward to shove Seunghyun in the arm. “And speaking of liars, you've been talking to my sister haven't you?”

 

Seunghyun tilted his head back, his scoff turning into a throaty chuckle. “How does that make me a liar?”

 

“You're withholding information. She mentioned you yesterday, not by name, but she didn't need to.”

 

The only response he got was an enigmatic smirk and dancing eyes. Jiyong tsked, tapping ash from the end of his cigarette and watching it float to the ground. There was an avalanche of questions riding on the back of his tongue. About everything. But mostly he wanted to know the things they'd said to each other. Aside from bumping into Dami outside of the school yesterday, he hadn't really seen her. And lately Jiyong's crappy performance in classes seemed like the sole topic available for discussion. Which usually meant they didn't talk very much because he never wanted to listen to her rant.

 

He frowned as silence reigned for several minutes, long enough for both of them to finish smoking and flick tar-stained filters into the snow.

 

“I like Dami a lot.” Seunghyun finally spoke up, pressing so far into his personal space that Jiyong had to press back or risk falling over.

 

“I think she likes you, too.” Jiyong glanced up in time to catch Seunghyun's pleased grin. “Did she...” he began, mouth hanging open for a beat. His teeth snapped together when he thought better of it. “Nevermind.”

 

“We talked about you, but she didn't say anything bad, I promise.” The boy knocked into him with his elbow. “You're lucky to have a sister like her.”

 

“I know.”

 

Jiyong shouldn't have been baffled by the fact that Seunghyun knew what he'd been about to ask, but he was. Really, he was baffled at how easily they'd come to this point. And that he hadn't managed to completely fuck it up. Even more shocking was that he didn't  _want_  it to be fucked up. Jiyong's blood raced in his veins and his limbs felt like dead weights. He wasn't used to this.

 

“She's lucky too,” Seunghyun added. Jiyong rolled his eyes. “What?”

 

“You're so fucking cheesy.”

 

Seunghyun scratched at the back of his head through the thick material of his beanie and tucked his chin against his chest to hide. “Whatever. You love it.”

 

Jiyong turned to him, staring at his cheeks that were reddened from the biting cold and his embarrassment. At his lips that refused to remain still. At the bob of his eyelashes when he stole a lingering glance.

 

The need to hug Seunghyun – to hold him and be held – whispered in his bones, begging him to move. Jiyong didn't know what kept drawing him in; what continued to tempt him into crossing the imaginary line he'd scrawled in his head. But he didn't know what the rules were. Or if there even were any rules in the first place. They were both hovering on the edge of this  _thing_  that was so much more than friendship and Jiyong was doing his best to find the courage to not let it slip through his fingers.

 

So he reached out, curling those fingers into the rough material of Seunghyun's coat, and gathered him into his arms. He didn't realize that he'd forgotten to exhale until he was gripped tightly in return, breath leaving him in a shaky gust. Jiyong hooked his chin over Seunghyun's shoulder and closed his eyes again, pulling the boy as close as physics would allow. The heavy layers of their jackets were frustrating. He wanted to know the contour of Seunghyun's body, wanted to know how it fit with his, and the thought of that ever really happening sent a terrifying thrill right through him.

 

Neither of them said anything. Jiyong was just thankful that he wasn't asked to explain his behavior, because he wouldn't know how to respond. Instead, he took comfort in the moment and the way Seunghyun stroked along his back. The avalanche of questions turned into an avalanche of sentiments he wasn't ready to say out loud and his heart beat a bit faster.

 

Jiyong struggled to speak around the knot of “I like you”s in his throat as he withdrew. “I, um...I need to get back.”

 

“Sure,” Seunghyun said, nearly inaudible. Their noses brushed and their hands stayed exactly where they were and Jiyong felt the dizziness return when he looked into Seunghyun's eyes to discover a want as heavy as his own. “I'm just gonna smoke another cigarette.”

 

He nodded, arms sliding from the boy's waist. His body was overheating and he almost tripped in his attempt to put some distance between them. A flustered laugh made its way out of his lungs and he nodded again for good measure, walking around the corner to the entrance of the diner. Jiyong didn't really remember taking his coat off or stuffing the red knit hat into one of the pockets; didn't remember ambling into the bathroom and locking the door so he could sink to the tiled floor with his face buried in raised knees.

 

Jiyong wasn't upset or angry or confused. He was fucking overwrought.

 

“Seunghyun, you utter bastard,” he whined, giggling tiredly to himself as he pondered the consequences of falling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> credit for the quote from Catcher in the Rye goes to J.D. Salinger please don't sue me I have nothing to give you


	8. Chapter 8

Jiyong rolled over onto his side, awake, but not quite willing to open his eyes. His alarm hadn't gone off yet and the silence in his bedroom verged on oppressive. It was still early. Nuzzling into his pillow, he sighed, feeling the heavy pull of sleep leave his muscles until he couldn't keep his eyelids shut anymore. He stared at the window; watched the pale morning light steal through the lowered blinds and shroud everything in gray. Without purpose, his gaze flitted across the room, looking but not seeing. Jiyong was trying to collect the fragments of his dream, the warmth of his blankets intensifying the burning warmth of his skin when he remembered a few vivid details. The slide of Seunghyun's fingers tangling with his, a wide grin that unfurled in slow motion, laughing coffee-black eyes...Seunghyun's lips pressing to the corner of his mouth in a moment that seemed to stretch into the infinite. Jiyong lurched upright into a sitting position, kicking the covers to the edge of the mattress and covering his face with his hands. His cheeks were so hot and his stomach had twisted itself into tiny knots. It wasn't the first time he'd dreamed of Seunghyun, but it  _was_  the first time the content had been so painfully _intimate_.

 

_Do you dream of me, too?_

 

The question lingered in his head and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “So fucking stupid,” he croaked softly.

 

But not even the calming spray of the shower could help erase the images from his memory. Nor did it temper the cocktail of emotions that sloshed around inside of him. Uncertainty. Fear. Anxiety.  _Desire._  Jiyong's forehead thunked against the chilled tiles and he listened to the water surging down the drain. He took shallow breaths, feeling the ghost of Seunghyun's fingers slotted between his own like it had actually happened. That longing – the one that had made a permanent home behind his ribs – flared to life and he trembled ever so slightly.

 

Turning the shower off, he wrapped a towel around his waist and returned to his room, droplets of moisture sliding from his skin to dot the carpet at his feet. Goosebumps spread up along his arms and across his chest from the frigid air leaking through the poorly insulated walls of the apartment. Jiyong dressed quickly, pulling on a pair of boxers, followed by black jeans and a white t-shirt and his tattered, blue zip-up. He wandered barefoot into the kitchen and made coffee, staring vacantly at a crack in the wall while the coffee machine spluttered and hissed on the counter. The noise of the shower starting again jerked him out of his trance. Dami was awake, which meant it was probably around six-thirty. Jiyong sighed and went back into his bedroom to grab his phone and whatever socks he could find.

 

When the coffee had finished brewing, he poured the steaming liquid into a ceramic mug and set another one out for his sister. She always forgot to make it when Jiyong wasn't up early enough to do it for her. He hoped she would take it as the peace offering that it was, because they still hadn't spoken since Friday. Jiyong couldn't exactly say he was anticipating that particular conversation, though. Tugging on his boots in the hall, he grabbed his pea coat from its hook and paused when a flash of red caught his eye. He took the knit hat out of the pocket, rubbing the soft material between his fingers, and the knots in his stomach coiled a little tighter. It was the first gift he'd received since he was eleven. And it was the first gift he'd received that actually sort of meant something. Jiyong chewed on his bottom lip, mind cruelly replaying the way Seunghyun's hands had cradled his face.  _Jesus christ, it's only a hat._  Frowning, he pulled the hat over his ears and shrugged on his jacket. After retrieving the mug of coffee from the kitchen, he left the apartment to climb the flight of stairs that would lead him to the roof.

 

It was definitely too cold to be outside, but he didn't mind. The roof was quiet. Isolated. He liked the feeling of solitude; liked standing still and watching everything else keep moving around him. The gravel crunched and shifted under his boots as he walked towards the edge, stopping once he could see the snow-covered streets through barren branches. Jiyong looked out at the rows of houses, listening to the muffled sounds of car engines and the shrill chirping of birds. He sipped at his coffee and savored the slow heat trailing down his throat.

 

Reaching into his pocket, he fingered the hard plastic of his phone and thought about texting Seunghyun. They hadn't seen each other in a couple days, but they'd talked for two hours last night because Jiyong didn't have a shift at the diner. He'd been laying in his bed staring up at the ceiling while the boy's voice carried through him. Jiyong recalled the way his toes had curled into the blankets and how much Seunghyun had made him laugh. The snippets of his dream cycled through his head again and he clenched his eyes shut, taking a measured breath.

 

“Fuck it,” he mumbled, flipping his phone open.

 

 _But what the hell do I say?_  Jiyong drank more of his coffee, thumb hovering over the keypad. Anything. He could say anything and it wouldn't matter, Seunghyun probably wasn't even conscious yet. Shedding his hesitation, he typed a short message and hit send before he could stop himself.

 

_-good morning_

 

Jiyong felt twelve and pathetic and out of his depth.  _“Good morning”? Really?_  His face shifted into a scowl and he chugged the rest of his coffee, praying it was still hot enough to scald the lining of his stomach as punishment. He nearly dropped his phone when it beeped at him thirty seconds later.

 

_-why in god's name are you awake right now?_

 

He let out a huff, grin stretching his mouth wide, and typed in his reply.

 

- _couldn't sleep. watching the sunrise._

 

_-can you even see the sun?_

 

Jiyong snorted and lifted his head to survey the dense wall of clouds that had grown marginally brighter in the last ten minutes.

 

_-no_

 

And then his phone rang, Seunghyun's name popping up on the small screen. He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat and answered.

 

“Are you on the roof?” Seunghyun asked, cutting off Jiyong's greeting.

 

“Yeah.” He sniffed, nose a bit runny. “And before you scold me, I'm wearing three layers  _and_  the hat you gave me.”

 

Rumbling laughter filled his ear and he started pacing. How could he remain stationary when he didn't even feel tethered to the ground? Jiyong wondered if Seunghyun would ever stop making him feel like he had no control over his body.

 

“It's too cold to live, I still think you're crazy.”

 

His grin continued to tug at his lips, fading only to come back again twice as strong. “Why are you up so early?”

 

“I, um, I didn't sleep, actually. Had to write a paper.”

 

Seunghyun's voice was buoyant but worn at the edges. Like he was trying to overcompensate for the exhaustion even though Jiyong could always tell.

 

“Don't hurt yourself,” he said with a small laugh, intending to mask his concern with sarcasm, but lately that never seemed to work.

 

A long sigh trickled from the phone's speaker, Seunghyun saying softly, “I'll be fine” in reply, and Jiyong's nervous energy crackled up and down his spine because he knew the boy was smiling. And he knew exactly what it looked like because that same smile was still replaying over and over again in his mind.

 

When he looked up at the sky and Seunghyun had yet to say anything else, his shoulders eased into a hunch. “I'm assuming I won't get to see you today, then.”

 

 _Now it fucking sounds like we're dating._  Jiyong cringed and Seunghyun released another sigh.

 

“I– I don't know. I still have a lot of work to do. But– ”

 

“It's cool,” Jiyong interrupted and wiped at his nose, mug dangling from his fingers. He made a concerted effort to be casual; to not reveal his disappointment as he cut back and forth across the roof. “I was just curious.”

 

“Soon, though. I promise.”

 

“You make a lot of promises.”

 

“Yeah, and I keep them, too.”

 

He didn't know what to say so he didn't say anything and the pause in conversation grew a little tense as he listened to Seunghyun breathe. Neither of them wanted to hang up but they knew that they should. It was getting late, anyway, and Jiyong had to brush his teeth before heading to school. He watched two birds loop through the air in front of the building and pressed the phone more securely to his ear.

 

“Guess I'll talk to you later,” Jiyong said, brighter than he felt. His eyebrows drew together and his eyes slipped shut again. “Have, um, have a good day, Seunghyun.”

 

“You too, Ji.”

 

*

 

That Thursday, Jiyong found himself sitting on the aged orange carpet of the school's library. Classes didn't begin for another hour and he never thought he'd _ever_  spend more time than was absolutely necessary in this goddamned hell-hole, but sleep had eluded him. He'd been re-reading one of his books, huddled on his bed in the half-light of six in the morning, when he remembered Seunghyun's comment about the literary journal. And his curiosity wouldn't let him wait until lunch, so here he was, tired and meticulously sifting through four years' worth of adolescent bullshit just to find the boy's words.

 

Jiyong had the first journal open in his lap, slick pages covered in a story Seunghyun had written when he was thirteen. It was kind of like getting to peek behind the curtain and he didn't know what he was going to find. A small part of him felt like he was cheating. Because he'd asked Seunghyun to show him something and Seunghyun had never actually said yes. But Jiyong couldn't help himself. He let his hand slide over one of the pages, tracing the lines of text without reading them. Jiyong still didn't know a whole lot about Seunghyun, though he wanted to. He wanted to know everything. And that didn't freak him out anymore.

 

Pushing the red beanie further back on his head, he inhaled deeply and began.

 

The first story was good; sloppy and inexperienced, but honest. And as he tore through each volume, the honesty never faltered. Jiyong could almost hear Seunghyun's voice in his ears, his steady baritone narrating every poem and piece of fiction, every combination of words better than the last. Some were funny, some were heartbreaking. But they were all beautiful in a way that he couldn't describe. This was a part of Seunghyun that wasn't fully expressed on a daily basis and he felt like he was reconciling the version of the boy that he already knew with the one woven inside the typeface beneath his fingers.

 

When his eyes devoured the final sentence in the final volume, Jiyong nearly pouted because there wasn't more.

 

He relaxed against the shelves, shoulder-blades settling on rows of books. Jiyong really should have known from the very beginning that Seunghyun was anything but ordinary. It made sense now, why he was so dedicated to his schoolwork. Because Seunghyun had a future worth not screwing up. Staring down at the pages in his lap, Jiyong decided that he was impressed. That he was impressed and a little...enamored. He slid a hand over his face and choked out a tight laugh.  _Okay, maybe more than a little._  Unfolding his legs, he set the journals aside, wishing Seunghyun was there so he could punch him in the arm for being brilliant and stupid and amazing. And for making him feel like an infatuated moron. Jiyong let out a weary sigh and dug into the pocket of his hoodie for his phone, eyes going wide. It was already a quarter to nine and he'd missed his first class.

 

“Shit,” he whined, laughing again as he scrambled up from the floor and stuffed the pile of thin volumes back where they belonged.

 

Dami was totally going to murder him, but whatever. Even if he'd registered that the bell had rung he wouldn't have stopped reading. Seunghyun was more important than U.S. History. Seunghyun was more important than every class he'd ever taken. Coat gripped in his fingers, Jiyong sprinted out of the library and made his way to the other end of the building. A grin pulled insistently at the corners of his mouth and he didn't care that everyone probably thought he was nuts because he felt light. Vibrant.  _Unsinkable._

 

And they couldn't bring him down even if they'd wanted to.

 

*

 

Of course, that profound sense of invincibility couldn't last. Not that Jiyong expected it to, but he had hoped to ride it out for more than a measly twenty-four hours. And it was thanks to Victor, king of obnoxious douchebags everywhere, that his good mood had been ruined the following afternoon in the hallway outside of their English classroom.

 

What surprised him though, was that he didn't care.

 

Jiyong hadn't felt an immediate surge of anger when Victor slammed him into the lockers and insulted him. He hadn't wanted to wipe the smug look off of the other boy's face with his fist; hadn't minded when he took a few hits while a growing crowd of students stood there and watched. The pain hadn't been satisfying, either. Not like it used to be. It was easily the most reluctant fight he'd ever participated in. The reason he'd even bothered hitting Victor back was a vain attempt at being left the fuck alone, but that hadn't worked out too well.

 

Because no one gave a shit that Jiyong hadn't started it, only seeing what they wanted to see. Their principal, Mrs. Wilson, hadn't hidden her obvious pleasure at finding him in her office. He could still recall the glint in her dark eyes as she sentenced him with another suspension and let Victor off the hook entirely. If anything,  _that_  had made him angry; the emotion testing the limits of his control as he'd sat there and gripped the armrests of his chair so tight he thought they might splinter and break. Jiyong knew Mrs. Wilson wanted him gone. The want clear in her reedy voice when she'd informed him that this was the last straw. One more wrong move and he would be expelled. Which is why he had to grit his teeth and walk out the door without uttering a single word in protest.

 

Jiyong was slumped on the floor in the men's room now, knuckles red and swelling from when he tried to punch a hole through the side of a bathroom stall. He stared at the dirty tiles under his feet and flexed his aching fingers, chin resting on his knees. The period was almost over and he'd have to get up soon. Jiyong thought about skipping his last class because he didn't want to be here anymore. But Mrs. Wilson's threatening words lingered. Dami really  _was_ going to murder him this time.

 

Knocking his skull against the wall, Jiyong closed his eyes.

 

“Fuck,” he breathed.

 

All of this was pointless. He couldn't even stay mad for more than a handful of minutes. He was just drained and so goddamned tired of pretending that he knew what he was doing. Jiyong's throat constricted and he looked up at the ceiling. He had told Seunghyun that he didn't need saving, but the more he thought about it, the more it felt like a lie. Jiyong banged his head against the wall again. He wanted to see the boy. And he wanted to forget about everything for a while.

 

Jiyong exhaled roughly as he moved to stand, dusting off his jeans and then inspecting his injuries in the mirror. There was a small cut on the bridge of his nose and a bruise had begun to form on his cheek. He could live with that. He'd definitely lived with a hell of a lot worse. Jiyong pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head and left the bathroom.

 

The bell signaling the end of class reverberated through the building and he merged into the sea of bodies, eager to get lost in something that wasn't himself.

 

*

 

The halls echoed with loud chatter and the squeak of thick-soled boots now that school had ended. As Jiyong navigated his way towards the parking lot, he wondered if he should call Seunghyun or wait to be called. They still had one more week of classes before break and he didn't want to take up too much of his time. But Jiyong couldn't prevent the needy little tug in his chest once he started thinking about him – and how it had been too many days since he'd heard his voice.  _Jiyong, you're so hopeless._  He bit down on his lip, scowling as he pushed through the heavy doors and was met with a burst of ice-cold air. It was fucking freezing, his cheeks already going numb, and he actually sort of dreaded the idea of having to walk home.

 

“Jiyong!” He heard the shout after he'd made it halfway across the parking lot.

 

Jiyong stopped, turning around with a sigh. If it was Victor, he was going to lay down right there on the slushy ground and wait for someone to run him over. But then he spotted Seunghyun jogging closer, grinning as he cut through a row of cars to get to him. Jiyong ducked his head and he felt a blush fight against the numbness in his cheeks. Seunghyun's shoes came into view a few seconds later, the tips of their toes inches apart.

 

“Hey.”

 

He took a slow breath before looking up, skin prickling beneath all of his layers.

 

“Hi.”

 

Seunghyun's grin stretched wider, if that was even possible. His blush deepened in response and he watched the boy's happy expression go dark when he eventually noticed the bruise.

 

“What–”

 

“I'm fine,” Jiyong muttered, shrugging as he stared at their feet again. “It's not a big deal.”

 

Icy fingers lifted his chin and Seunghyun's eyes roamed over his face. Jiyong looked away, hands balling into fists at his sides as Seunghyun's touch drifted, barely grazing the small bloom of yellow and purple. Concern radiated off of him and, for once, Jiyong let himself feel it.

 

“Was it Victor?” Seunghyun asked.

 

“Yeah.” Jiyong nodded, offering him a wan smile. “It's been a long day.”

 

There were more questions. Jiyong could feel that, too. But Seunghyun didn't pry, emitting a quiet huff and dropping his hand instead. Relief flooded through him at being spared the frustration of having to talk about it.

 

Then they both went quiet, the noises of the busy parking lot filling their silence. Seunghyun removed his beanie to mess up his hair while Jiyong did his best not to act on his impulses. All of which involved his arms around Seunghyun's waist and his face hidden in the crook of the boy's neck.

 

Clearing his throat, Seunghyun pulled the hat back over his ears. “Do you want a ride home?”

 

“Thanks, but no.”

 

“Jiyong, it's like, ten below,” Seunghyun said. He was grinning again. “You'll turn into an icicle.”

 

Jiyong snorted, wishing that he was smoking a cigarette so that his fingers had more to do than fumble with the hem of his coat. It wasn't that Jiyong didn't want to say yes. It was that saying yes meant forcing himself outside of his comfort zone – something Seunghyun happened to be very good at, even if he didn't know it.

 

He shook his head and glanced at Seunghyun from the corner of his eye. “I can handle it.”

 

But Seunghyun reached out to take him by the shoulders, head dipping a bit lower, demanding his attention. “Please just humor me this one time.”

 

“Why?”

 

With a groan, Seunghyun wrapped his arm around Jiyong's neck, dragging him towards the car as he murmured, “Because I worry about you, all right?”

 

He stumbled, laughing and holding onto the boy's waist to regain his balance. Jiyong ignored the open curiosity of other students as they passed, sinking his fingers into the material of Seunghyun's jacket. He welcomed the swelling in his chest when Seunghyun immediately drew him closer.

 

However, when they were finally standing in front of the silver Honda, Jiyong's stomach dropped out and the swelling became a wave of unease. Seunghyun let go of him and walked to the driver's side door, pausing when he saw that Jiyong hadn't moved.

 

“What's up?”

 

“Nothing, it's–” he swallowed, inching forward to grip the handle. “Nevermind.”

 

Seunghyun hesitated. So Jiyong gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile and climbed inside before he could change his mind. He held the seatbelt tightly, attempting to fasten it without letting Seunghyun see how unsteady his hands were. Jiyong breathed in and pressed his back against the seat, jumping when Seunghyun touched his thigh.

 

“Sorry.”

 

He shook his head again. “It's okay.”

 

“Will you tell me why you look so freaked out?” Seunghyun asked.

 

Jiyong stared at the hand on his leg, Seunghyun's thumb idly stroking over the curve of his knee, and he let out a ragged sigh. He couldn't decide if it was helping or making it worse. Maybe it was both. Jiyong chewed on his lip and squeezed the strap of his seatbelt even tighter. This was not a conversation he wanted to have right now.

 

“I, um...I haven't been in a car in a while.”

 

“I promise to drive slow and obey all traffic laws.”

 

His lips twitched and the weak sound of his laughter filled the car, taking a fraction of his nervous tension with it. Jiyong's head fell back against the headrest. Through the windshield he watched more students walk by; watched other cars peel out of the parking lot and listened to their tires roll over wet snow and gravel. The last time Jiyong had been in a car was directly before seeing his parents placed six feet underground. The time before that, it had been in the back of an ambulance. He was stupid for allowing those memories to manipulate him, but the old fear remained, and he felt so small.

 

“It's not you I'm afraid of,” Jiyong admitted softly.

 

Seunghyun was still rubbing circles into his knee, so he clung to that instead of the nausea roiling in his gut. Turning his head, he found more concern etched into the lines of the boy's face, and Jiyong wondered if he'd ever stop being the reason for the knot in those thick eyebrows.

 

“Jiyong...”

 

“I'm good,” he lied easily, taking a deep breath. “Really. Just drive.”

 

Seunghyun was clearly skeptical, but he nodded and his hand disappeared as he put the keys in the ignition. An unfamiliar song floated from the stereo over the whirr of the engine; something ambient. Strange. Jiyong closed his eyes once the car began moving, concentrating on the music – on the way Seunghyun tapped the steering wheel and hummed.

 

When the car lost traction over a patch of ice, Jiyong clenched his jaw- air suspended in his lungs. It was only a short moment. A temporary loss of control. But his heart thundered against his ribs for the rest of the ride until it became the only thing he could hear.

 

*

 

Jiyong felt a little less sick as they climbed the stairs to the fourth floor of his building, just happy to be on solid ground again. He almost dropped his keys twice when he tried to unlock the front door, though. Seunghyun hovered to his left, playing with the zipper on his hoodie. Jiyong could tell it was difficult for him not to speak; not to ask what was wrong. And he couldn't really blame Seunghyun for that because he knew he was retreating inside of his head. Creating distance.

 

He unlocked the door and pushed it open, closing it behind them and crouching down to remove his boots. Seunghyun followed suit and toed off his shoes, nudging them against the wall. Jiyong removed his jacket, too, placing it on a hook and stuffing his beanie in one of the pockets before giving Seunghyun an expectant look. Seunghyun stared back at him blankly.

 

Huffing, Jiyong yanked on a wooden toggle. “Give me your coat, idiot.”

 

“Oh. Yeah,” Seunghyun mumbled, a bit embarrassed as he slipped it from his shoulders.

 

Jiyong put it on the hook next to his own, hand smoothing over the rough material, and then stepped around Seunghyun to go into the kitchen. Or he would have if Seunghyun hadn't latched onto his wrist and kept him there.

 

“Will you...stop, for a second?” Seunghyun asked, voice low as he pulled Jiyong in reverse.

 

“I told you, I'm–”

 

“No, listen.” Seunghyun released a tired sigh and brought him into his space, making it hard for Jiyong to avoid eye-contact. “I know you're not fine. And it's okay that you aren't and I'm sorry if I'm pushing, but you're doing that thing again where you shut me out.”

 

Jiyong went very still, guilt creeping up his throat and leaving his mouth dry. He didn't enjoy being the reason why Seunghyun was upset, yet he continued to find himself in this position and he wished he knew how to change that. They stared at each other in the dim light of the hallway. Seunghyun's eyes were a little sad and Jiyong was unsettled by how much he wanted to make it go away.

 

“I'm sorry,” he whispered. “I–” Jiyong choked on the words and frowned, lowering his head. He wasn't even sure what he'd been about to say.

 

A few seconds passed, Seunghyun's hand easing into his hair. The gentle scrape of nails along his scalp and the back of his neck was always more comforting than he expected it to be.

 

“You don't have to explain anything, Jiyong...but I'm here.”

 

It wasn't stated as a request, though Jiyong knew what he was asking. Seunghyun's fingers traveled lower, touching the highest notch in his spine, and he swayed forward to curl his arms around the boy's waist. Jiyong deflated against Seunghyun as he let the full extent of his exhaustion weigh him down, trying not to think about how fucked up everything was or how much Dami was going to hate him. Or how much he would probably end up hating himself. Instead, he burrowed into Seunghyun's neck and chose to wallow in the moment.

 

“I'm sorry,” Jiyong repeated.

 

Seunghyun answered by hugging him even closer. He felt the boy move and then the heat of his breath right behind his ear.

 

“Apology accepted,” Seunghyun murmured, and now Jiyong could tell he was smiling.

 

He laughed and shook his head, propping his chin on Seunghyun's shoulder as he exhaled. It felt really good to be held. More specifically, it felt really good to be held by Seunghyun and Jiyong was having issues convincing himself to let go.

 

“Why do you put up with my bullshit?”

 

Seunghyun withdrew slightly and lifted his hands to frame Jiyong's face. His mouth twitched into a slow smile. “Because I like your bullshit.”

 

Jiyong laughed again, unable to stop himself from blushing, and bit down on his lip. He didn't get Seunghyun. He didn't get why it was so easy to for him to make it all seem okay – to change his moods, make him happier. Or the way he understood without really knowing anything. The way he could always read Jiyong like an open book even when he couldn't always translate every word.

 

That needy tug in his chest returned, but for an entirely different reason. Because he decided that he wanted Seunghyun's bullshit, too.

 

Looking up, Jiyong gave him a tiny smile back and finally let his arms slip away. Seunghyun ruffled his hair.

 

“The offer still stands, by the way,” the boy said, trailing after him as they walked into the kitchen.

 

Jiyong went to the sink for a glass of water and Seunghyun slouched against the counter. He arched an eyebrow, smirking around the rim of this cup.

 

“You really weren't kidding.”

 

“Nope.”

 

Merely the thought of being in an enclosed space with Seunghyun while he pawed at Jiyong's head for at least twenty minutes had his pulse spiking. He gulped down the rest of his water and placed the glass next to the sink. Seunghyun tipped over, ducking low to catch Jiyong's gaze. He swore he was going to die if he kept blushing like this.

 

Jiyong cleared his throat and gestured vaguely at the doorway. “Clippers are in the bathroom.”

 

Which is how he found himself sitting on the lid of the toilet – hair damp from sticking his head in the shower and towel draped over his shoulders while Seunghyun stood between his legs. Jiyong kept his eyes closed, listening to the metallic snip of the scissors. Chunks of wet hair grazed his skin as they fell, Seunghyun's hand pushing through the remaining clumps, and his entire body loosened. The stress of the day melted into nothing with every stroke of his head and Jiyong suspected that Seunghyun was doing it on purpose. But he wasn't about to complain. Not when soft fingers were lifting his chin and gliding along his jaw to turn his head left and right; each touch lasting a few seconds longer than it needed to. Jiyong breathed in, leaning into the contact without much thought. Seunghyun's palm molded itself to his cheek briefly and then the air shifted as he stepped away, the sound of the clippers buzzing to life behind him. The vibrations against his skull had him zoning out in no time. And Jiyong didn't even notice that Seunghyun had finished until he felt the towel being removed and a hand on the back of his neck. Seunghyun's thumb rubbed into the shaved hairs at his nape, eliciting a gentle shiver.

 

Jiyong blinked, eyelids heavy, as though he was waking from a deep sleep. He faltered when he stood up and Seunghyun steadied him, chuckling faintly.

 

“Don't laugh at me,” Jiyong mumbled, sheepish grin tugging at his lips.

 

His equilibrium seemed off, now that Seunghyun wasn't manhandling him, and it was weird – one of those moments where reality became not-so-real. He yawned, earning himself another quiet chuckle.

 

“It's not my fault you're so cute when you're tired.”

 

Glowering, Jiyong ignored the comment in favor of mussing up his hair, and already he knew it was a hell of a lot better than the overgrown fuzz that had been there before. He looked to Seunghyun where he was leaning on the tiled wall, watching Jiyong with amused eyes.

 

“Thank you,” he almost whispered, because for some reason he felt remarkably shy under that intense scrutiny.

 

Seunghyun flashed him a grin and nodded, playing again with the zipper of his hoodie. “You're welcome.”

 

Jiyong nodded, too. Now he felt shy  _and_  awkward and this bathroom was definitely way too small for that. He scrubbed at his face, itchy from all the tiny hairs he would probably be finding everywhere for days, and then started to clean up. If he didn't do something mindless, he was going to do something stupid. The fact that Seunghyun was inches away only increased those chances. So Jiyong walked out to get the broom from the closet in the hallway and didn't think about it.

 

He didn't think about it when he took a shower while Seunghyun waited in his bedroom, either. Didn't wonder if the boy had found his books; if he was sitting on his mattress or standing uncomfortably in the middle of the room because he didn't know what was allowed and what wasn't. Jiyong sighed, eyes closed as the spray pelted his body. The memory of Seunghyun's touch stole in to crowd his thoughts – the exact texture of his fingertips and the slide of his palm on Jiyong's skin.

 

It was so simple.  _Touch_. And yet it always disabled him in a heartbeat.

 

When Jiyong got out of the shower, he dressed slowly. He didn't want to go to work tonight. Then again, not going to work meant he'd have to face his sister and he wasn't ready for that. Grabbing the pile of his dirty clothes, he switched off the light and left the bathroom. Jiyong kind of just wished he could hang out here with Seunghyun in the solitude of his apartment. Even the constant swell of nerves in his stomach was better than having to force a smile and act like he wasn't in a shitty mood. Because as soon as Seunghyun was gone, he knew that he'd crash directly into the black hole of his super fun and not-at-all-depressing thoughts.

 

Seunghyun was sitting cross-legged on the end of Jiyong's bed when he walked in; back pressed against the wall and chin tucked against his chest as he read from the book in his lap. Jiyong had to pause in the doorway because things were getting a little surreal again, seeing him like this. He spent a number of seconds observing lazy fingers turn dog-eared pages and marveled at how natural it felt; how comfortable he looked. As if it was the hundredth time Seunghyun had sat there and not the first.

 

A ripple of awareness traveled through Jiyong and his heart made one fierce beat inside of his ribs because  _fuck_ , he wanted that too – the mundanity of those hundred times. Even though being with Seunghyun was never mundane. Never boring. He fidgeted with the tag on the inside of his shirt and cleared his throat to announce himself. Seunghyun jerked in alarm. Jiyong didn't bother trying to hide his smirk as he cut across the room and tossed his clothes in an empty laundry basket.

 

“Which one are you reading?”

 

“Whitman.”

 

He rummaged inside the top drawer of his dresser for a fresh pair of socks, walking backwards until his legs hit the mattress. Jiyong should have figured Seunghyun would go straight for the poetry. Plopping down to sit, he hiked his jeans up, gradually sliding his feet into thick wool.

 

“This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless. Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done. Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou lovest best,” he recited absently, bending over to fix the hem of his pants. “Night, sleep, and the stars.”

 

Jiyong would give anything to fall onto his bed and let sleep take him; let it temporarily erase the insanity of today until tomorrow morning let it come rushing back. Seunghyun remained suspiciously quiet so he turned around, finding his eyes narrowed and his expression a mix of disbelief and admiration.

 

“You're ridiculous.”

 

He snorted, grinning as he dragged himself off the bed.

 

“Come on.” Jiyong's hands wedged themselves into his pockets and he concentrated on the patch of wall just above Seunghyun's shoulder. “I have to stop for cigarettes before I go to Frankie's.”

 

But Seunghyun didn't let him off the hook, face still a bit awed while he put his jacket on in the hall and Jiyong laced his up his boots.

 

“No, seriously. How do you just whip that shit out at the drop of a dime?”

 

He snatched his coat, ushering Seunghyun through the door so he could lock it. Jiyong slipped his hat on and started trudging down the stairs, checking his phone and actively ignoring the texts and voicemails from Dami that continued to grow in number. Seunghyun nudged him when they hit the third landing. He forgot that he hadn't answered yet and he nudged the boy back, shrugging a little.

 

“I have a good memory.” S _ometimes too good._ Jiyong sighed.

 

“If I gave you another poet, could you do it again?” Seunghyun asked, voice strangely animated, and Jiyong didn't know why he was so excited about his slightly above-average memorization skills.

 

Smiling, he huffed out a small laugh as he pushed through the doors of the building. “Sure, why not.”

 

Jiyong began walking and Seunghyun followed, not offering to drive despite the fact that the air was so cold it cut right to the bone. He eyed the boy as they crossed the street – leaning in until their arms were pressed together and convincing himself it was because he'd started to shiver. It seemed like Seunghyun wasn't going to say anything else, but then his arm was wrapping around Jiyong's shoulders.

 

“Are you gonna ask or what?”

 

“I'm thinking,” Seunghyun murmured.

 

And it was only after they'd stopped at the gas station for cigarettes and were finally standing on the curb in front of the diner that Seunghyun brought it up again. Jiyong flicked his lighter and inhaled, pacing a little bit to keep himself from freezing his ass off. He watched the lights paint shadows across Seunghyun's face; the way they deepened or turned pale every time he moved.

 

“Neruda,” Seunghyun said with a nod and a smirk before taking a drag from his cigarette.

 

 _Well, fuck._  Jiyong nearly groaned, shooting him a glare. Not that he couldn't do it. But most of the poems he had in his head were about shit like love.  _Of course._  He started pacing in earnest now, wracking his brain for something that worked.

 

“Too challenging?” Seunghyun teased.

 

Jiyong shoved him in the arm. “No, just gimme a sec.”

 

“Because I can pick someone else.”

 

“You're such an ass,” he muttered, hitting him a bit harder.

 

Seunghyun's pleased cackling filled the air and Jiyong yelped when the boy yanked his beanie down over his face. Wrenching the hat back, he reached out to jab Seunghyun in the stomach, laughing so much that he couldn't even pretend to be angry for the sake of their childishness. Jiyong gasped for air and stubbed out what was left of his cigarette under the sole of his boot. Seunghyun was beaming at him, cheeks red and practically glowing as he lunged forward for another attack, but Jiyong danced away.

 

The appearance of his dimple and the way his eyes always crinkled at the corners had Jiyong wondering how someone could be so stupidly adorable without even trying. Seunghyun tossed his own cigarette into the snow, hands on his knees as he caught his breath and sighed through his remaining giggles.

 

And it was then, in that exact moment, that Jiyong felt a sharp twinge of disappointment. Because he wanted this to last and he wanted Seunghyun to stay. _But nothing ever does and you always have to go._

 

Sniffing, he wiped at his nose and kicked a pile of snow into powder on the asphalt. Seunghyun wandered over to stand close to him.

 

“I'm still waiting for my poem.”

 

He grinned, tossing Seunghyun a glance before dropping his gaze to look at the frozen ground. Jiyong studied their feet for a time and then allowed his eyelids to fall shut when a soft heat enveloped him. Seunghyun was leaning into his side. Jiyong reciprocated.

 

Perhaps Neruda was more fitting than he'd realized.

 

“When I cannot look at your face, I look at your feet,” Jiyong spoke without thinking. “Your feet of arched bone, your hard little feet. I know that they support you, and that your sweet weight rises upon them. Your waist and your breasts, the doubled purple of your nipples, the sockets of your eyes that have just flown away, your wide fruit mouth, your red tresses, my little tower. But...” He paused, brows knotting and heartbeat loud in his ears. “But I love your feet only because they walked upon the earth and upon the wind and upon the waters, until they found me.”

 

With a quiet sigh, Jiyong forced himself to relax. The poem had been written about a woman, yeah, but the meaning was unmistakable. And Jiyong hadn't really intended for it to be a confession, but that's what it had pretty much become. He knew the flutter of fear in his chest was silly. Unnecessary. He wasn't an idiot, he knew Seunghyun liked him. It was just...Jiyong had never been in this position before – had never let anyone get this far – and  _that's_  what was frightening.

 

Opening his eyes, he turned to see Seunghyun nibbling on his lower lip and failing not to break out into an easy smile. Jiyong's fingers twitched against his thigh and he shifted, pressing his knuckles against Seunghyun's. He was sure the boy could see the tremor in his breath with every thin cloud that wobbled out of his mouth; could probably feel how his heart raged inside of him. Seunghyun's smile cracked a little wider and he ducked his head, gazing at Jiyong from underneath the web of his eyelashes as he linked their hands – the slide of his icy fingers inspiring Jiyong to quit breathing altogether.

 

“And you're still ridiculous,” Seunghyun said, eyes glittering in amusement.

 

He scoffed.

 

“I  _will_  hit you.”

 

Raising his other hand, Jiyong threatened to punch him in the arm, but Seunghyun just laughed and curled his fingers around his wrist. So he kicked Seunghyun gently in the shin instead, which only had him tilting his head back to send his laughter out into the cold. Jiyong indulged himself and brushed the peaks of Seunghyun's knuckles with his thumb. And when he squeezed, Seunghyun squeezed too.

 

The dream he'd had was nothing compared to this. For one, it was real; a fact he needed to keep reminding himself of every ten seconds. And even though it was freezing outside...there was so much warmth everywhere else. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> credit for the poems go to Walt Whitman and Pablo Neruda, respectively. no copyright infringement intended, I promise my bank account is still empty.


	9. Chapter 9

“We need to talk.”

 

Jiyong glared at the frying pan on the stove, pushing the sizzling mound of vegetables around with a wooden spoon. Their worst arguments always began like this. And those words were easily his least favorite words in the history of everything, because more often than not, it resulted in one of them saying something they couldn't take back. Or, more accurately, something  _he_  couldn't take back. Jiyong felt Dami's hand slide along his arm to grip his shoulder and he switched the burner off.

 

“Can I eat before you disembowel me or would that make too much of a mess?” He asked, moving away to get a bowl from the cabinet.

 

She sighed. “Don't start, Ji.”

 

“I'm not the one starting anything here.”

 

In his periphery, Jiyong saw Dami fold her arms over her chest as he scooped rice into the bowl and then dumped in the oily contents of the frying pan. Setting it down, he put the dirty dishes in the sink before shifting to face her. Jiyong raised one of his eyebrows, trying to hold onto his irritation instead of letting the dark circles under her eyes turn him soft.

 

“Why are you being a brat? This isn't an attack,” Dami said, voice deceptively calm.

 

“We wouldn't even be having this conversation if you'd just let me make my own goddamned decisions.” He ran a hand through his hair and watched her gaze harden. When Dami opened her mouth, Jiyong was quick to cut her off. “And if you even think of bringing them into this again I'm walking out.”

 

“That's not fair.”

 

Shaking his head, he stepped away from the counter, losing the battle with the anger that was bubbling up, thick and toxic, in the pit of his stomach.

 

“No. I'm tired of you using mom and dad as a weapon against me. It's bad enough that I have to live with my own fucked up version of survivor's guilt, I don't need yours on top of it.”

 

Jiyong's tone was probably more unforgiving than she deserved, but he was over this. It didn't matter how much they talked about it, or fought about it or _discussed_  it, the outcome was the same. The same meaning wrapped up in different words. The same feeling of bitterness; of being found lacking. The same sense of hitting your head against a fucking cement wall. How many times would they find themselves here before anything changed?

 

Dami's posture sagged, her arms falling limp at her sides as she looked at him. The expression on her face was so forlorn that Jiyong was instantly hit with a sharp pang of regret for putting it there. He didn't want to argue, he wanted her to understand. But the more he tried to convince her – to show her that keeping him in school was not going to work – the more stubborn she became.

 

Her shoulders lifted in a helpless shrug. “I don't know what you want me to say.”

 

Jiyong took in a deep breath and stared at the floor, hands balling up into fists and then unfurling when he breathed out.

 

“Then don't say anything,” he murmured softly.

 

Without even sparing her a passing glance, Jiyong left the kitchen, striding into his bedroom to collect his phone and his wallet. He needed to get out of there. Because if he didn't, his temper was going to speak for him and that would just make everything so much worse. Shoving his feet into his boots, he tugged his jacket on and reached for the doorknob, but stopped. Something unpleasant clawed at the walls of his stomach, something far bigger than the anger and the regret. Jiyong spun on his heel slowly and he poked his head back into the kitchen. Dami was sitting hunched over the table.

 

“You, um...you should eat that. Before it gets cold,” he said, waving at the bowl of food on the counter, and then headed for the door without waiting for her response.

 

Every step down the stairs and down sidewalks and empty streets didn't help him like he wanted them to. His first thought was to call Seunghyun, but he brushed it aside. Seunghyun didn't need his baggage, he had enough crap to deal with this week; papers, projects, tests, presentations. Things Jiyong should've been worried about as well. But he wasn't.

 

Reaching for his cigarettes, Jiyong lit one, begging the harsh smoke to replace the storm inside his chest. He didn't work at the diner tonight. It was Monday and Frankie's was always dead in the Winter. So he walked.

 

And he kept walking. Until his legs were too tired for motion and his lungs too frozen for breathing. Jiyong walked in circles, somehow ending up at the small playground a few blocks from the high school. He cleaned snow from one of the swings and collapsed into it, leaning heavily against the chains. A gust of wind whipped through the park, coaxing a quiet groan from the wooden beams of the swing set. Jiyong was still thinking about Seunghyun. And at this point he was beyond pretending that he didn't crave the boy's presence. The weight of his arms, the weight of his affection. Because nothing else seemed to fucking work anymore.

 

He peered out into the distance, staring vacantly at the blanket of old snow and the dark smudge of the treeline. Lighting another cigarette, Jiyong closed his eyes and swayed back and forth on the swing. He chose to forget about his suspension and his regret and his anger. Instead, imagining the sound of Seunghyun's laughter in his ears and what it might feel like to lay down beside him and fall asleep.

 

*

 

The next four days were determined to pass at a snail's pace, Winter break dangling just out of reach. And between Jiyong's long hours at the diner and Seunghyun losing his shit over finals, the first time they managed to find a moment to hang out was during lunch one afternoon – at the side entrance on the stairs. They were up against the wall, shoulder to shoulder, smoking. Jiyong didn't hesitate to lean as close as humanly possible. Because all he needed right now was this.

 

“I don't get how you're not even the tiniest bit stressed,” Seunghyun said, taking a final drag before throwing his cigarette butt over the stone railing.

 

“I remember enough to scrape by.”

 

Seunghyun laughed, but it quickly dissolved into a pronounced groan and he turned to press his face into the fuzzy material of Jiyong's beanie.

 

“Can I borrow your brain?”

 

“Trust me, you wouldn't want it,” he muttered, smirking as he finished his own cigarette and flicked it out onto the snow-covered steps. “And your brain is fine.”

 

“Fuck,” Seunghyun whined. “It sure as hell doesn't feel fine.”

 

A puff of hot breath ghosted along Jiyong's neck and he tried not to squirm. But it was hard, with Seunghyun pressing into his body like this. Jiyong felt that familiar wave of nervous energy roll through him. He needed a distraction.

 

“Speaking of your brain, I almost forgot...” he started, fighting the urge to just give up and curl into Seunghyun's side. “I found copies of the literary journal in the library–”

 

“–Jiyong–”

 

“–and I read all of them. From your first submission to your last.”

 

Seunghyun pulled away, slouching against the wall and covering his face. “Oh god,” came the muffled reply from behind cold-reddened hands.

 

Grinning, Jiyong choked out a laugh, moving to stand in front of him. He reached up and circled his fingers around the boy's wrists.

 

“Hey, cut it out. Why are you hiding?”

 

“Because I'm embarrassed.” Seunghyun let Jiyong bring his arms down. His head lolled against the gray stone as he attempted a glare, mouth twitching. “I can't believe you did that.”

 

He laughed again and chewed on his lower lip, heart a little unsteady because Seunghyun was playing with his hands now – fingertips gliding over his palms and between his knuckles.

 

Jiyong swallowed roughly and averted his eyes. “Is that what you're going to college for? Writing?”

 

“Yeah, I– I hope so,” Seunghyun replied, expelling a long sigh that already spoke volumes. He paused and Jiyong could tell he was thinking by the intensity of the knot in his brow, so he stayed quiet, rubbing his thumb along the inside of Seunghyun's wrist. Seunghyun looked up and gave him a rueful smile. “My dad...he wanted me to study something else, something  _realistic_ , whatever...but he knows he lost the right to participate in my life a long time ago.”

 

“And your mom?” Jiyong asked, cautious.

 

He wouldn't push if Seunghyun didn't want to go into detail, but he felt like this was important. Like he needed to be the solid one this time, the source of comfort, in order to balance all the times Seunghyun had done the same for him. Jiyong wondered why he'd never asked before. Probably because his head had been stuck too far up his own ass.

 

“I dunno. We, um, we don't talk much,” Seunghyun murmured, a frown tugging at the edges of his mouth.

 

Stepping closer, Jiyong leaned into Seunghyun until their foreheads were almost touching, adjusting his grip on the boy's hands and holding them tighter. The giddiness in his chest expanded and it was kind of awesome and kind of terrifying and he was definitely going to need a while to get used to this.

 

“I think you're really good.”

 

Seunghyun scoffed, shaking his head. “I'm all right.”

 

“No.” Jiyong stared into his eyes and begged himself not to wince or giggle because this was probably the sappiest fucking thing he'd ever thought about saying. “You're wonderful.”

 

But he meant it. And then the grin Jiyong had been looking for spread across Seunghyun's face, dimples punctuating his happiness as he glanced away and went all pink. It was nice to finally have some ammunition, something he had at his disposal to make Seunghyun blush; to prove that Jiyong saw  _him_  too and that he was worth seeing.

 

“I'll take your word for it,” Seunghyun muttered wryly.

 

Jiyong couldn't hold back after hearing that and he tipped forward to bury his shame in Seunghyun's neck as he laughed – mostly at himself.

 

“I totally deserved that, didn't I?” He asked.

 

Seunghyun freed one of his hands, resting it on top of Jiyong's head.

 

“Yeah, you totally did.”

 

He felt fingers scratch at his scalp through the thickness of the hat and he let all of his weight sink forward until they were flush. Jiyong slipped his arms around Seunghyun's waist, a soft smile on his lips. Cold air tried to creep in and make him shiver, but he wouldn't allow it; not when they only had a handful of minutes left before the period ended. Pushing his nose into Seunghyun's warmth, Jiyong focused on memorizing this feeling. He never thought he'd ever wish for more time. But when they were together, it was never quite enough.

 

*

 

The final bell of the semester had long since faded, but Jiyong was still there – legs hanging in the air from where he was perched on a table in the cafeteria, waiting for Colin to finish locking up. He'd been loitering patiently for nearly half an hour, counting scuff marks on the linoleum floor and being weirded out by how silent it was. Occasionally there'd be voices in the hallway outside; obnoxious laughter, shouting, the slam of a locker. Jiyong hopped off the table with a sigh, hands in his pockets as he kicked halfheartedly at the closest chair. He didn't like being here longer than he needed to. But it would be two weeks before he could see Colin again and he figured he owed the poor sap a fond farewell after neglecting him so much. The Irishman in question emerged from the kitchen door a moment later, grin wide on his freckled face.

 

“You really didn't have to stick around, Ji.”

 

Jiyong shrugged, meandering over to prod the man in the side with his elbow.

 

“I didn't want you to think I'd forgotten about you.”

 

“Indeed. I believe you've broken your record of most days gone without a black eye,” Colin said, locking the door and pocketing his keys. “That Victor kid finally off your back?”

 

 _Victor_. Jiyong tried not to scowl just thinking about him. The other boy was still harassing him in class, but Jiyong had refused to acknowledge his existence no matter how annoyed he got and it was a serious test of his patience. Though he'd silently congratulated himself for being able to make it through the week without incident.

 

Following Colin into the hallway, he shook his head. “Not exactly. I've been...preoccupied.”

 

Colin was observing him closely when he glanced up, the man's eyes narrowed in suspicion and a knowing smirk on his face.

 

Jiyong breathed out an unsteady laugh. “What?”

 

“I recognize that smile.”

 

Smile? Had he been smiling? Jiyong raised a hand to his mouth and felt his lips part and stretch despite his attempts to control them. He heard Colin snicker as they walked, his eyes cast to the floor and brows drawn together, but the man didn't elaborate and Jiyong didn't feel compelled to ask.

 

“How's Dami?”

 

“I'm not sure. We haven't been particularly good at that whole communication thing lately.” Jiyong sighed again, purposely leaving out the part where it was mostly his fault. “Or ever.”

 

They were almost at the rear entrance, but Colin slowed down, taking him by the arm until they'd come to a full stop. Jiyong gave him a raised eyebrow in question and watched as the older man shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. Colin's smirk had been replaced by a timid grin, his gaze flitting over the ceiling before eventually meeting Jiyong's.

 

“She worries about you a lot, you know.”

 

“Aha, so you did flirt with her.”

 

With a roll of his eyes, Colin smacked him in the arm. “We  _talked._  That was all.”

 

Jiyong scoffed lightly and nodded.

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

“Don't...don't be too hard on her, yeah?” Colin stepped closer. His forehead creased and wrinkled as he chewed on his lip. “She just wants what's best. We all do.”

 

Jiyong tried really hard not to laugh because he should have figured that this was coming – the moment he'd been dreading since the first day they met.  _The push._  Well, he was tired of being pushed. And to believe that things never would've changed after all these years was so fucking naïve.

 

Staring at the floor, his defensive instinct kicked in, the one that told him to disengage and walk away. Everyone always had something to say and he didn't want to hear it this time.

 

“Colin, it's great that you're into my sister, but I don't need this from you. Don't stick your nose in my shit,” Jiyong said, taking several steps in reverse. He sniffed, swinging his arms back and forth at his sides. “See you in January. Happy New Year and all that.”

 

He noticed Colin's defeated expression just before he waved and doubled back to wander through the school, hands shoved in the pockets of his coat and head bowed. Jiyong's pace quickened, taking a right down an empty hallway.  _God, I'm a dick._  He cringed. Internally and externally. There were probably a million other ways he could have said that. Or he could have not been an asshole and kept it to himself. Breaking into a jog, he kicked the side entrance door open and burst out onto the landing. Jiyong slid a hand over his face, wilting into a sitting position on the stairs, not caring about how cold it was.

 

A twinge of guilt flared inside of his chest and he embraced it. Because even if it didn't come close to being enough, Jiyong deserved to feel this. He slumped forward, nose smashing against his knee. What the fuck was wrong with him? Colin wasn't the enemy, he was a friend. And Jiyong had just...dismissed him like he was nothing.

 

“Damnit,” he groaned, banging his head against his leg.

 

Jiyong almost felt like he needed to relearn how to be a human being, because as of this very second he was a pitiful excuse for one. Gritting his teeth, he told himself he wasn't going to cry over this, but his throat constricted painfully in defiance.

 

“Hey.” A voice called off to his left.

 

Lifting his head, his eyes widened. “Seunghyun. What are you still doing here?”

 

The boy walked towards the steps as Jiyong slowly picked himself up and met him at the bottom.

 

“I was talking to one of my teachers,” Seunghyun explained, adjusting the strap of the backpack that hung from his shoulder. “I thought you'd be long gone by now.”

 

He shook his head, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, and stared at the chunks of cracked ice under their feet. Seunghyun leaned down, trying to catch his eye.

 

“Everything okay?”

 

Jiyong sucked in a breath and then let it out, watching the faint cloud disperse into the air before looking up. He offered Seunghyun a weak smile, his hands bunching into fists.

 

“Please just hug me right now.”

 

And even though he currently felt like less than a speck of dirt, the minute Seunghyun's arms wrapped around him had the world falling away. His eyelids closed and the effect was amplified, his awareness narrowing to the texture of Seunghyun's jacket clenched in his fingers; the press of Seunghyun's hand on the back of his neck and way he smelled. Like cigarettes and soap. Jiyong's throat tightened again, because he was grateful for this. Grateful that he even  _had_  this _._  But a part of him still worried that he wouldn't be able to keep it.

 

“Are you up for letting me drive you home?”

 

“I don't know,” Jiyong answered truthfully.

 

Seunghyun withdrew, reaching up to cup his cheek, and smiled. “Then at least escort me to my car.”

 

He huffed a short laugh, nodding. “Sure.”

 

As they walked around the perimeter of the building, Jiyong sought out the boy's hand and held it firmly in his own. Seunghyun seemed content not to ask questions for the time being and he was grateful for that too. He liked that they didn't always have to speak. Because there were a lot of things Jiyong wanted to say, but he didn't know how to say them. And after what happened with Colin he'd honestly rather just sew his goddamned mouth shut.

 

In lieu of words, Jiyong leaned against Seunghyun, sending him off balance, and they stumbled a little on the snowy pavement. Seunghyun shot him a mock glare, freeing his hand to loop his arm around Jiyong's neck and yank him closer until he almost fell over and they were both giggling. He latched onto the boy's waist, the lines of their bodies pressing together and parting with every awkward step. Jiyong felt considerably lighter. Just from this. And when he looked up at Seunghyun, finding one of those brilliant grins plastered on his face, it warmed him from the inside out.

 

But the feeling didn't stick, quickly replaced by a jolt of panic when he turned his head. Victor, of all people, was heading right for them. Jiyong instantly sobered, somehow not all that amazed that the day was getting progressively worse.

 

“I'm sorry,” he said, easing out from under Seunghyun's arm.

 

“Sorry for what?”

 

Jiyong didn't respond, only stared ahead at Perez as he approached. He saw Seunghyun follow his line of sight from the corner of his eye and just barely heard the boy's soft “ _Oh_ ” of comprehension. Gripping him by the elbow, Jiyong forced them to stop in the middle of the road. He bounced slightly on the balls of his feet. Not from anticipation, but from nerves. And it was making him sick to his stomach.

 

Since Victor was on his own, Jiyong already knew he wouldn't be getting a repeat performance of what had happened at Frankie's. And he was thankful for that even if it didn't put him any less on edge. The semester might have been over, but they were still at school and the consequences were always greater. Especially for him. Jiyong adopted an expression of apathy as Victor got closer, taking a few steps forward to place himself between Seunghyun and whatever bullshit was about to unfold.

 

“Are you recruiting for your little faggot brigade now?” Victor greeted, glancing at Seunghyun over Jiyong's shoulder.

 

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah, I saved you a spot.”

 

It was a lame comeback, but he wasn't really in the mood. Victor visibly bristled despite this and got right up in Jiyong's space, the smile on his lips failing to reach his darkened eyes. Jiyong flinched away, arms dropping to his sides and hands clenched tight into fists.

 

“Is that your boyfriend?” Victor asked, his voice low and mocking.

 

Jiyong refused to answer. This didn't deter Victor from continuing though, taking his silence as confirmation and leaning forward to speak into Jiyong's ear.

 

“Does he treat you with the respect you think you deserve? Do you call him daddy when he's fucking you in the ass like the little cockslut y– ”

 

Jiyong didn't need to hear the rest, fierce anger rushing in to make his blood boil. He shoved Victor away and punched him with everything that he had, the force of the blow causing Victor to lurch back, and Jiyong's muscles burned from the effort. His knuckles throbbed too, already swelling, and he savored the twisted expression of pain on Victor's face as a streak of red dripped from his nose. Jiyong hoped it was fucking broken.

 

There was a flurry of motion when Victor came at him and Jiyong reacted automatically, blocking whatever hits he could. He thought he heard Seunghyun's voice behind him, blending in with the grunts and the scuff of their feet, asking him to stop. Or maybe he was asking Victor to stop. Jiyong couldn't really tell over the roaring in his ears.

 

His fist connected with Victor's gut and he had the wind knocked out of him when the boy punched him in the stomach. He couldn't think fast enough, mind racing and body slow to listen. Victor managed to get in two more hits to his side and Jiyong doubled over, gasping as the pain radiated through him. He was so pissed off that it didn't even really hurt that much, just fueled the fire. Fueled the need to destroy Victor so that he never had to spare another ounce of energy thinking about him ever again.

 

Jiyong straightened, stepping forward to retaliate, when he felt a hand on his shoulder; five fingers digging sharply through the fabric of his coat. But looking behind him proved to be a mistake, because a second later his jaw exploded. And when the haze cleared and his ears stopped ringing, the first thing he saw was Seunghyun crumpled on the ground – head cradled in his hand, blood trickling down the curve of his cheek. Jiyong's heart seized for a brief moment as he tried to catch his breath. Time froze. No one moved. He was too shocked to react; torn between making sure Seunghyun was okay and pounding Victor into something unrecognizable.

 

Victor appeared to be a little shaken by what he'd done, eyes wide and chest heaving as he stared at Seunghyun. Because all these months Jiyong had been the one suffering and now all of a sudden he wasn't. Snow began to trail down from the sky then, landing delicately on their faces and clinging to their jackets. Jiyong's breath puffed out in thick, savage clouds and if he thought he'd been angry before, it was nothing compared to what he was feeling right now.

 

It wasn't long before Victor came back to himself, an ugly sneer curling his lips as he lifted his head. Jiyong spit blood onto the asphalt and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

 

“Jiyong...”

 

Seunghyun's warning tone drew his attention and he turned, glancing over at Victor just in case he decided to come at him again. Jiyong waited for Seunghyun to say something else, but there was only a silent request in his eyes.

 

_Don't._

 

“Are you gonna let  _daddy_  tell you what to do, princess?” Victor taunted, moving closer.

 

He gritted his teeth, his rage building even though his conscience told him Seunghyun was right.  _Take the high road, take the high road, take the high road_ , Jiyong chanted.  _He's not worth it._

 

“Fuck off, Victor.”

 

“Aww, but I wasn't finished.”

 

“I swear to god if you don't disappear in the next ten seconds I'm gonna crack your skull open on the fucking pavement,” he growled, quiet and furious.

 

And Jiyong would do it too. Without hesitation. Victor's expression faltered then, head whipping around as if to look for his _boys_  for backup. But there was no one. Jiyong watched his adam's apple bob as he swallowed and stumbled backward. A tiny sliver of relief wedged itself in the mess of everything else he was feeling. Because for a split second he'd really believed that Victor wouldn't give in. Exhaling roughly, Jiyong sent Victor a scathing glare when the boy scoffed and opened his idiot mouth. _Don't you ever fucking shut up?_

 

“You think y– ”

 

He cut him off, releasing a short yell as he lunged forward, causing Victor to trip and land heavily on his ass. The boy grimaced because he'd knocked his elbows against the ground and Jiyong just stood over him, panting.

 

“You wanna know what I think? Huh?” Jiyong narrowed his eyes. “I think you're a spineless piece of shit for using me to make you feel better about yourself. Because ganging up on me totally makes you more of a man, right?”

 

He gave Victor a hard kick in the side, more out of frustration than wanting to cause harm, and bent down to grab him by the collar of his coat. The boy moaned, struggling in his grasp. Jiyong studied him for a moment and wondered why he was even bothering. This wouldn't change anything. He sighed.

 

“You know what homophobia really means, Victor? Fear of the self,” Jiyong said. He shoved him back to the ground. “Think about that.”

 

Victor's brows collided as his head hit the asphalt and his breath came in labored gusts. But he remained mute, which was off-putting because it seemed like the boy always had something obnoxious to say. Jiyong's posture drooped, body sore. The majority of his rage had left him and now he was just tired. Exhausted beyond belief. And he didn't have the strength to deal with Victor anymore so he walked away.

 

Seunghyun was still on the ground cradling his head in his hand. Jiyong crouched down beside him.

 

“Let me see,” he said, reaching out to gently take hold of his chin.

 

One of Victor's rings had torn a chunk out of Seunghyun's skin, just underneath his eyebrow, which explained why he was bleeding so much. Jiyong scowled, tilting the boy's face to get a better look and doing his best to ignore the queasiness in his gut.

 

“Thank you.”

 

He flicked his eyes over to Seunghyun's and snorted. “For not avenging you?”

 

Seunghyun laughed softly, shaking his head as he pulled Jiyong's hand down. “For listening to me.”

 

With a slight nod, he dropped his gaze, curling his fingers around Seunghyun's palm. He felt awful for dragging him into this. Even moreso now that he'd become a casualty of Jiyong's pathetic existence. Jiyong desperately wished he could turn back the clock and rewrite the entire day. Then maybe he wouldn't have to be so mad at himself for fucking everything up. Seunghyun squeezed his hand and he lifted his head.

 

“Think you can make it inside?” Jiyong asked.

 

“Yeah.” Seunghyun moved to stand and Jiyong helped him, not letting go once he was on his feet. “You wouldn't be able to carry me anyway.”

 

Jiyong collected the boy's backpack from the ground and slipped an arm around his waist.

 

“I'm stronger than I look.”

 

“No kidding,” Seunghyun drawled.

 

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that Victor had snuck off without a sound, hopefully with his tail between his legs. Jiyong wasn't sure what to expect after this, his words having probably gone in one ear and out the other. Why he'd said those things at all, he didn't know. But he also didn't regret saying them. Descending into his thoughts, he didn't speak as he lead Seunghyun back into the school, taking them to the nearest bathroom on the second floor. Jiyong set Seunghyun's bag down and took his jacket off, pulling the boy's off as well and piling everything by the door.

 

“Sit,” he said, gesturing to the counter, and went to get paper towels from the dispenser, soaking them with warm water.

 

Jiyong refused to look at his own reflection in the mirror. He didn't need to. He didn't  _want_  to, because he knew it would just make him angrier. Wringing the excess water out into the sink, he positioned himself between Seunghyun's legs. Jiyong slipped the beanie off of the boy's head, setting it on the counter before he started cleaning the blood from his skin. Seunghyun's gaze was honed in on him, but Jiyong didn't acknowledge it, more concerned with what he was doing. Though every few seconds his focus would wander, trailing over the boy's face. And it was hard to miss the way Seunghyun's lips had slanted into a pleased smirk.

 

Pressing the wad of paper towels directly to the wound made Seunghyun hiss and Jiyong rolled his eyes.

 

“It fucking hurts,” Seunghyun grumbled defensively.

 

He sighed, placing a careful hand on Seunghyun's cheek and dabbing the cut with the other. Seunghyun winced and Jiyong's stomach twisted because this was nothing compared to what might have been. And that sent a lance of trepidation right through his chest, because it still  _could_.

 

Jiyong frowned, dropping his hands to refold the paper towels. “Yeah, well that's what you get for associating yourself with me.”

 

Seunghyun observed him quietly before taking hold of his wrist, fingers stroking low over the lines of his palm. Jiyong exhaled a shaky breath.

 

“It would take a lot more than getting hit in the face to keep me away from you.”

 

“Thank you for pointing that out, I hadn't noticed,” Jiyong said, mouth lifting in a wry smile.

 

Seunghyun's eyes disappeared into crescents as he grinned in response and Jiyong looked away, letting his head fall forward. The exact moment that he'd noticed the boy slumped on the ground, bleeding, replayed over and over again behind closed eyelids. If it wasn't for him, it never would have happened. And he knew he was fixating, but it had scared him so much. Jiyong didn't ever want to see Seunghyun hurt. Especially when he could have prevented it.

 

He breathed in, gritting his teeth to ward off another wave of guilt. “Seunghyun, I'm–” but he couldn't finish.

 

Wide hands took hold of his hips then, Seunghyun's forehead pressing against his as he was pulled further into the space between the boy's outstretched legs. Jiyong dropped the paper towel on the floor and he gripped broad shoulders to steady himself.

 

“Hey...it's not your fault,” Seunghyun murmured.

 

“But it kind of is,” he countered weakly.

 

“No. It isn't.” Seunghyun's thumbs rubbed over his hipbones in small circles and he nudged Jiyong's nose gently with his own. “Don't blame yourself.”

 

Who else was he going to blame? Every choice Jiyong had made had lead him to this point and there was no denying that. But he didn't argue, instead laying his hands flat over Seunghyun's neck. Jiyong was battling each conflicting emotion as it tumbled around inside of his head; the anger at himself warring with the swell of nerves that came from being near Seunghyun. He kept his eyes closed, riding out each giddy flutter that rolled through him. Pushing his forehead more firmly into Seunghyun's, Jiyong concentrated on breathing and tried to let his anger go; counting the faint beats of the boy's pulse against his hands.

 

Seunghyun continued to rub circles over his hipbones, his touch migrating higher to stroke up and down his sides as the minutes passed. Jiyong shivered, the flutter starting to turn into an ache. The fact that Seunghyun managed to be so incredibly patient all the time kind of blew his mind. He was too good to Jiyong. But Jiyong was too greedy now to tell himself he didn't deserve it.

 

Jiyong pulled back slightly to look into Seunghyun's eyes and his heart immediately leapt into his throat. Because Seunghyun was staring at him openly and their faces were centimeters apart. There was an intense heat building under Jiyong's skin; all of the things he'd been bottling up finally racing to the surface, and they were impossible to ignore. Like how much he really cared about Seunghyun; how much Jiyong wanted him more than he'd ever wanted anything else. And just like he had that afternoon at the diner, he found its match in the boy's dark eyes and it was overwhelming.

 

Seunghyun tugged him a little closer, clenching the material of Jiyong's hoodie in his hands and Jiyong's quiet gasp echoed loudly in the silence of the bathroom. They were sharing breath now, bodies curving into one another. Jiyong's heart was speeding out of control, but he liked it. He felt more alive now, here in Seunghyun's arms, than he ever had in a fight. And the realization was so powerful that, for a moment, he couldn't do anything – caught somewhere between action and inaction – but then Seunghyun smiled.

 

Jiyong smiled too, a nervous laugh threatening to escape from his lungs, and he was pretty sure that once he started he'd never stop. Because he'd never been here before – seconds away from letting himself fall. Seunghyun nudged his nose again and his breath hitched. He knew that the boy was teasing him as much as he was offering comfort, telling him not to be afraid. Jiyong nudged back and a small burst of amusement escaped anyway.

 

“You should probably kiss me right now,” Seunghyun mumbled.

 

And then he was laughing harder, all the tension breaking up inside his chest and leaving him lightheaded. Jiyong heaved a sigh to calm himself. Seunghyun just sat there, looking at him with this perfectly sweet grin on his face and Jiyong couldn't fucking take it.

 

So he acted on impulse, tilting his head and closing the remaining distance to brush his lips against Seunghyun's. Jiyong's eyelids drifted shut and it was like a bolt of lightning had ripped through his stomach; like his entire body was going to implode. Just from the soft press of the boy's mouth and the way his hands were molding to the contours of his back. Seunghyun deepened the kiss, the movement of his lips deliberate and tender, and Jiyong buried his fingers in Seunghyun's hair.

 

He'd never kissed anyone before, either; the cockiness and inappropriate comments all for show. Jiyong had no clue what he was doing, but it didn't matter, because Seunghyun's tongue was flicking out to taste the curve of his bottom lip and he was totally useless – could only melt into the kiss and hope that he didn't drown. Seunghyun was oblivious or didn't care, too busy tormenting Jiyong with the painfully slow press of his mouth. It was sending these weird sparks of electricity down his spine and making his toes curl inside of his boots. He released a strained whimper, hands traveling to frame Seunghyun's face. To drag his thumbs across his cheeks and over his jaw and bring him even closer. Jiyong's eyebrows furrowed tightly, the heat under his skin only growing stronger. Seunghyun moaned low in his throat when Jiyong arched against him, the kiss becoming messy and too much for Jiyong to handle, and he broke away with a sharp gasp.

 

The sound of their heavy breathing filled the bathroom and Seunghyun's arms wrapped around his waist. Jiyong's mouth was tingling, his limbs weightless. If Seunghyun hadn't been holding onto him, he thought he might actually float into the air and vanish. Carding his fingers through the short strands of the boy's hair, Jiyong swayed forward; lips lightly touching the bridge of his nose.

 

“We should go, before they lock us in and we end up stuck here for the next two weeks,” Jiyong nearly whispered, unwilling to break the spell entirely.

 

Seunghyun huffed and hugged him tighter instead of letting go.

 

“Will you actually let me take you home now?”

 

“Yeah.” He laughed, toying with the hairs at the nape of Seunghyun's neck. “I still have to tend to your wounds.”

 

Jiyong felt Seunghyun's smile against his skin as the boy sighed and finally withdrew. They stared at each other for a long while and Jiyong blushed profusely because the only thing he could think of was crushing their lips together. Because now that he'd crossed the imaginary line in his head, he couldn't remember why it had seemed so insurmountable. But Jiyong inhaled carefully and made himself step back, distracting himself by getting their coats and tossing the paper towels in the trash. Seunghyun laced their fingers together before they even left the bathroom. And Jiyong couldn't wipe the grin off of his face, even after they were inside Seunghyun's crappy Honda; his fingers clutching the seatbelt until his knuckles turned white.

 

*

 

Frankie's was booming with the collective sounds of temporary liberation – the diner packed wall to wall with kids from his high school, their laughter and excited yelling making it hard to hear and harder to think. Now that they were on break for the holidays, it always got a bit more crowded on the weekends. Particularly at night, because what else were a bunch of bored teenagers supposed to do when they were stuck in the middle of fucking nowhere? Jiyong was just thankful Anna was staying late to help out. On any other night, he wouldn't have minded. But today had been...a lot. And Jiyong was waiting for the moment when he'd drop dead on the floor, face smushed on the checkered tiles in a pool of lukewarm coffee.

 

Seunghyun had stayed as well. After Jiyong patched him up with the first aid kit in his bathroom, Jiyong had showered and changed and made two packages of instant noodles. They'd sat on the kitchen table together, legs swinging while they ate, and Jiyong asked Seunghyun about his classes. He liked listening to the boy talk. Even when they weren't talking about anything important. Jiyong had spent so much of his life not listening –  _not_  connecting, _not_  caring. And Seunghyun made him realize how much he'd been missing out on because of that.

 

As soon as midnight hit, the diner quieted and only a few tables were left – most of them still full of teenagers who were reluctant to put an end to their first night of freedom. Anna was reading one of her fashion magazines, drifting in and out of conversation with Leroy that Jiyong only half-heard as he wiped down tables. He was functioning on auto-pilot now, powered merely by the knowledge that he'd get to go home and crash into bed in less than two hours. Because every muscle in his body ached and his jaw was still sore and it really was the opposite of enjoyable. Tossing the damp towel into one of the bins in the kitchen, Jiyong shuffled over to the booth Seunghyun had claimed and fell into the seat beside him. He groaned, pushing his face against Seunghyun's shoulder.

 

“Will you be my pillow?” Jiyong asked, voice muffled by the boy's hoodie.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Good.” He slouched further into the dip of the seat, pressing as close as he could with his uninjured cheek smashed against the boy's arm. “I wasn't really gonna give you a choice.”

 

Seunghyun chuckled and Jiyong honestly didn't care that he was essentially snuggling a customer during work hours because he was done with today. It wasn't even “today” anymore, it was tomorrow, but most of the time it seemed like one continuous stream of bullshit he didn't want to deal with. He was just glad that he didn't have to go to school for the next two weeks. And more importantly, that Seunghyun wouldn't be inundated with assignments anymore. Jiyong sighed, snaking his hand underneath Seunghyun's arm where it was resting on the table to weave their fingers together. The boy had been doing nothing but reading all night and Jiyong was remarkably happy that he'd stayed. He hoped Seunghyun could feel that, even if he didn't say it.

 

Jiyong's gaze roamed across the diner – trailing over randomly placed flower arrangements and blinking Christmas lights and the fake snow made out of strips of cotton that lined the windows. There was a group of girls that went to their high school in another booth. He recognized one of them from his Physics class, but he couldn't remember her name. And the instant he made eye-contact, they all exploded into high-pitched giggles and turned away. Jiyong let out an amused snort.

 

“We're being watched.”

 

“I can't imagine why,” Seunghyun murmured, voice heavy with sarcasm as he brushed his thumb over Jiyong's absently.

 

“It's either the busted faces or the fact that we're holding hands.”

 

“Based on the blushing and the giggling, I think it's pretty safe to assume the latter.”

 

He craned his neck to look up at Seunghyun and the boy stared down at him with a faint smile on his lips.

 

“Come outside with me?” Jiyong asked.

 

Seunghyun arched one of his eyebrows. “Is movement something you're capable of doing right now?”

 

He thought about dragging himself out of the booth for all of three seconds.

 

“No.”

 

Which made Seunghyun laugh, his dark eyes glittering as he played with Jiyong's hand – long fingers sliding between Jiyong's knuckles and grazing the skin of his palm. His stomach swooped from the gentle touches. From the way Seunghyun continued to stare at him like they weren't in public and they didn't have an audience. Because the only thing currently occupying his brain was how badly he wanted to kiss him again. Jiyong felt his face go up in flames.

 

“Don't look at me like that.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because,” he whined, burrowing back into Seunghyun's shoulder. “Just don't.”

 

He probably sounded like a five year old, but he didn't really give a shit. Jiyong's everything seemed like it was stuffed with cotton candy now instead of only his head and he didn't know how to deal. And he didn't know what to do with all of these new things that he wanted because they were  _so much_. His head was bursting with them; these vague urges that all revolved around one person. But there was one thing that stood out. One that wasn't so vague. And that was the fact that Jiyong had officially given up on pretending – on denying himself something that was definitely going to make him happier than he'd ever been in his entire life.

 

Because there was no one else in the world he wanted to be with more than he wanted to be with Seunghyun.

 

Jiyong clenched the boy's fingers in his own, their knuckles locked tight, and he sighed. His mouth spread wide in a grin, and he decided that one day he would find the courage to let it be more than just a thought. One day, Jiyong would actually tell him.


	10. Chapter 10

 

 

Seunghyun turned onto the street where he lived, a street lined with houses that all looked pretty much identical – two stories, big windows, perfect hedges, and the same boring as hell paint job. Jiyong didn't know what he'd been expecting. Maybe he was hoping for something less depressing. Something that was better than cookie-cutter suburbia; some pocket of the world Seunghyun had that was his. Jiyong mashed his nose against the cold surface of the window as they pulled up to a darkened driveway. He could make out a light coming from somewhere inside, just a faint glow bleeding through the living room curtains, but the house still felt empty. Jiyong wondered if this was how it felt every time he came home.

 

“Shit,” Seunghyun cursed softly, and Jiyong almost didn't hear him over the murmur of the radio. “...my dad's here.”

 

He shifted, resting his head against the glass and watching Seunghyun's fingers tighten their hold on the steering wheel. Jiyong chewed his lower lip.

 

“We don't have to go in if you don't want to.”

 

“No, it's fine.” Seunghyun let out a sigh. The music transitioned into obnoxious commercials and he switched it off, hands falling into his lap. “I just wasn't expecting him to show up until later this week.”

 

“Seunghyun...” Jiyong began, unsure of himself because this felt like the stupidest fucking question, but it wasn't something they'd ever talked about and it seemed relatively important right now.

 

He glanced over at the boy, playing with the edge of his sleeve. Seunghyun was looking at him curiously and Jiyong inhaled, long and deep.

 

“Are you out to your parents?”

 

Seunghyun gave him an amused huff. “Yeah,” he replied, nodding. “Though I think they like to pretend that conversation never happened.”

 

Jiyong's stomach sort of clenched and he nodded back. He wondered about that, too. What it must have been like to experience  _coming out_. Dami had sort of always known, even when he hadn't. And of course their parents died before he'd had the chance or the courage. He supposed he was thankful. Though part of him felt a little robbed, which in turn made him feel childish and dumb. Jiyong hunched his shoulders, index finger wriggling through one of the holes in his sleeve. He didn't notice that Seunghyun had cut the ignition until there was a hand covering his. Seunghyun squeezed once and moved away to undo his seat belt, climbing out of the car. Jiyong trailed after him.

 

While the house appeared empty, it definitely wasn't – the evidence making itself loud and clear as soon as Seunghyun opened the front door. It sounded like the argument was coming from the kitchen and Jiyong wondered if this was a common occurrence. His eyes traveled over the walls, taking in framed paintings and potted plants and the quiet, hulking shapes of furniture in the living room. The house seemed nice. Though Jiyong didn't think he could classify it as a  _home_  and that made his stomach clench again as he stood in the shadows of the foyer, trying not to listen to the angry words down the hall. Seunghyun closed the door behind them, coming to stand beside Jiyong in the dark. He noticed the way Seunghyun practically vibrated with tension and his fingers found the boy's without looking.

 

“We really don't have to do this,” Jiyong whispered.

 

But Seunghyun exhaled and shook his head. “I– it's okay. Come on.”

 

And then Seunghyun was leading him up the stairs and into his bedroom.

 

Which was something he shouldn't have been so nervous about. They'd hung out in Jiyong's room and it hadn't been weird, but this was different. This was...meaningful. Or maybe he was giving the moment too much significance when there didn't need to be. Jiyong hovered just inside the door, grateful that the bickering was muffled when Seunghyun locked it. He bent down to remove his boots and nudged them against the wall, letting his socked toes curl into the pale gray carpet. They both shrugged their jackets off and Jiyong wracked his brain for something to say.

 

Seunghyun didn't seem to think this was mildly awkward, going over to his desk to hang his coat on the back of the chair while Jiyong's eyes darted around the room. There were three tall bookcases, all packed tight with bound volumes that made the shelves bow from their collective weight. His lips quirked as he inched towards the closest one because of course Seunghyun would surround himself with books. Jiyong's smile grew wider when he recognized most of the authors – Murakami, Woolf, Tolkien, Pratchett, Gaiman, McCarthy, Pynchon, Oates, Plath, Eco, M **á** rquez, and too many poetry collections to count.  _Ugh, I hate you so much_ ,he grumbled internally as his fingers lifted to graze their spines.

 

“I'm super jealous,” he said, almost under his breath.

 

He heard Seunghyun laugh. “Don't be. I haven't even read most of them yet.”

 

Jiyong turned, finding the boy staring, and a wave of giddiness cartwheeled right through him. He was still nervous. Not in a bad way, it was just that he knew even less about how he should act around Seunghyun now that they'd kissed. Mostly because he wanted  _more_  kisses, but he wasn't sure if immediately pinning the boy to the bed would make him too desperate. He blushed at the thought and cleared his throat.

 

“You should get on that,” Jiyong said, nodding like an idiot and looking anywhere but at Seunghyun's smirking face.

 

When he didn't say anything else, Jiyong pivoted on his heel and continued his exploration of the room. He could feel Seunghyun's gaze following him as he paused to inspect a collage of familiar looking doodles on the wall above the bed. They were all ripped out of notebooks, thin blue lines intersecting dark ink and faded pencil. Jiyong grinned to himself when he recognized his cartoon doppelganger more than once and his heart beat a little bit faster.

 

The voices downstairs rose in volume then, impossible to tune out, and he caught Seunghyun scowling as he sunk down onto the mattress. Jiyong watched him yank his beanie off and tear a hand through his flattened hair.

 

“God, they always do this. I'm sorry–” Seunghyun stopped, his frown deepening. “If my dad wasn't around it would be a lot quieter.”

 

Jiyong stretched his legs out, hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. It wasn't really the fighting that bothered him. And he wanted to say it wasn't a big deal, but he could see how much Seunghyun hated this because it was written all over his face. Seunghyun offered him a tight smile and twisted the soft material of the hat in his fingers.

 

“Sometimes I think the only reason they haven't gotten a divorce yet is because they wouldn't have an excuse to make each other miserable anymore. It's like they get off on being bitter,” Seunghyun muttered and tossed his beanie onto the desk. “I'm sorry, you don't...you don't need to hear about this.”

 

“Don't apologize.” Jiyong shook his head, reaching out an arm in invitation. He didn't know what he was going to do, he just knew he needed to do something,  _anything_ , to help. “Come here.”

 

Pulling Seunghyun onto the bed, he leaned back until they were both laying down. Jiyong curled up on his side and cradled his head in his hand, knees digging into Seunghyun's leg. Seunghyun was concentrating on the ceiling. Jiyong thought he looked kind of sad.

 

Another burst of shouting filtered through the closed door and Seunghyun winced. Jiyong took a deep breath and slid his fingers into Seunghyun's where they rested on his chest, blurting the first thing that came to mind.

 

“Tell me about your writing.”

 

Seunghyun's eyebrow twitched, gaze coming to land on Jiyong's face. “Like what?”

 

“Doesn't matter. Why did you start?” He asked, and let his thumb rub absently over warm skin. It made him want to squirm when Seunghyun didn't look away.

 

“An escape.” Seunghyun drew his bottom lip into his mouth and narrowed his eyes in thought. “It was how I coped when things were shitty. But once I started, I couldn't really stop, because there was something about it that was addictive. Even when it's frustrating I still love it.”

 

Jiyong studied their linked hands for a long moment. Seunghyun probably didn't realize how fortunate he was to care about something enough to keep doing it. Whether it was for the rest of his life or not, he still cared.

 

“You're really lucky.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because you have a way out,” Jiyong said, voice hushed. He smiled somewhat uncomfortably and stared at the wall.

 

“Jiyong, you could do whatever you want. Be whatever you want.”

 

Seunghyun lifted his other hand, sweeping the hair from Jiyong's forehead. He was reminded of their conversation on the roof of his apartment and his eyes drooped to a close.

 

“But I don't know what that is,” he admitted.  _Sometimes I feel like I don't know anything._  “I mean...I wouldn't even know where to start. Pretty sure I've already screwed myself over.”

 

“Don't be so optimistic,” Seunghyun murmured wryly, and Jiyong felt the whisper of his breath on his lips.

 

He shivered and opened his eyes to discover the boy's face inches from his own. Seunghyun's expression was light and teasing and Jiyong couldn't prevent an entertained smirk. It would be so easy to lower his head and claim the curve of those lips. To press Seunghyun into the mattress and feel the soft heat of his body. Jiyong's mouth went dry and he swallowed thickly, hyper-aware of every point of contact between them.

 

Seunghyun cupped his cheek, making his heart jump. And just when he thought he'd finally convinced himself to quit being such a fucking coward, the argument picked up again downstairs. Jiyong was positive he'd heard something breaking. “Is it always this bad?” He asked instead of avoiding it.

 

“Sometimes worse,” Seunghyun said, his expression falling as his hand dropped to his side. “Usually I put my headphones on and try to forget it's happening. I don't know why I bother coming back here half the time, because I can't really concentrate, even when it's quiet.” He glanced at Jiyong and pushed their palms together. “That's why I spend so much time at the diner. Or driving around. I used to stay out all night and end up miles away in some random town, surrounded by farmland and pretty much nothing else. For a while it was the only place I felt like I could really breathe.”

 

Jiyong understood what he was talking about even though their circumstances weren't exactly the same. He might not have to live with the burden of unhappy parents, but he knew what it was like to be suffocated. To be trapped. And knowing that Seunghyun had any idea how that felt made his insides tangle up into knots. Jiyong gripped Seunghyun's hand more firmly.

 

“Sounds like the perfect set-up for getting murdered. I hear corn fields are really great for hiding dead bodies,” he joked, hoping to steer the conversation towards something that wasn't so heavy.

 

Seunghyun didn't even crack a smile, perfectly serious as he asked, “How do you know I wasn't the one hiding the bodies?”

 

“The odds of you being an axe-murdering psychopath are slim to none.”

 

“Or I could be the world's most convincing actor.”

 

He rolled his eyes and Seunghyun's facade turned into throaty laughter, the sound traveling through his body and hitting him right in the chest. Jiyong breathed in slowly to steady himself.

 

“What the hell did you do when you were out there, anyway?”

 

“Listened to music, smoked cigarettes....and thought about you,” Seunghyun answered with a shrug, his cheeks coloring when he added, “But that kind of happens all the time.”

 

Biting down on his smile, Jiyong leaned closer. “Proof that you're too sweet to be a serial killer.”

 

Seunghyun grinned.

 

“You keep telling yourself that.”

 

He chuckled and dropped his arm, bravely letting his head fall to rest on Seunghyun's shoulder. If Jiyong was being honest with himself, he sort of loved this. Despite the butterflies in his stomach and the not knowing and the reality of Seunghyun's parents having it out in the kitchen. The yelling had calmed at least, and now it was just the sound of their breath that filled the room.

 

After a few minutes of agonizing internal debate, Jiyong surrendered to his urges and pulled his hand free, moving into Seunghyun until his arm was locked around the boy's middle. Seunghyun slipped an arm around him too and it felt so normal. So easy. His pulse fluttered a little violently, but that was more out of happiness than fear.

 

“Why do you let creeps like Victor get to you?” Seunghyun asked, breaking their silence.

 

Jiyong tensed and shoved his nose into the crook of the boy's neck. The hand at his back started to move in gentle strokes until he relaxed.

 

He sighed. “I don't have a short answer for that.”

 

“So give me the long one.”

 

But he didn't respond, clamping his eyes shut and wondering why they were talking about this.

 

“Jiyong, look at me,” Seunghyun urged.

 

And he did, even if it took him a while, gradually lifting up on his elbow. Seunghyun's mouth slanted into a half-smile, one hand returning to cup Jiyong's face. His skin went hot and he forced himself not to hide again no matter how much he wanted to.

 

“I understand that this is hard for you. I get that.” Seunghyun brushed his thumb back and forth over Jiyong's cheekbone, eyes soft and searching. “But I don't want you to be afraid that I'll walk away if you let me see the bad shit, okay? Because I'm not going to.”

 

Jiyong stared at Seunghyun, fingers sinking into the material of the boy's hoodie until he felt the shallow dip of his waist. Even if he didn't currently have a giant lump in his throat he wouldn't know what to say to that. Because what did you say to someone who just made a silent promise to always be there? Though he realized Seunghyun had sort of been telling him that for months. Not necessarily with his words, but with everything else.

 

Without hesitation this time, Jiyong lowered his head and pressed his mouth to Seunghyun's. His body still reacted like it was their first, jolts of excitement immediately crawling underneath his skin. Seunghyun kissed him back with the same kind of muted intensity as before and Jiyong was melting all over again.

 

“Is this you changing the subject?” Seunghyun asked against his lips.

 

“Do you want me to stop?” He really  _really_  didn't want to stop.

 

“No.”

 

“Good,” Jiyong whispered, surging forward to crush their mouths together.

 

Seunghyun hummed his approval and Jiyong nudged his knee between the boy's legs, needing to be closer, and it was so good.  _Fuck_ , it was amazing. Jiyong never wanted to do anything else but lay there and forget about the rest of the world and kiss Seunghyun until his lips went numb. Feeling bold, Jiyong nipped at the boy's mouth with his teeth, licking tentatively at the swell of his bottom lip. Seunghyun's answering moan was low and a little needy and all he could think was... _I did that._

 

When their kisses became messy, tongues sliding together and breathing labored, Jiyong didn't shy away. There was a curling heat in his gut and his dick was getting hard. He was sure Seunghyun could feel it when the boy rolled his hips slightly, one hand clutching roughly at Jiyong's sweatshirt.  _Jesus christ_. He groaned, brows furrowing in concentration as the dull burst of pleasure coursed through him. Jiyong pressed his forehead against Seunghyun's, panting harshly, and rocked down just to feel it again. They both gasped.

 

Jiyong's heart was apparently trying to slam its way through his chest; his blood pulsing in his veins. He opened his eyes and Seunghyun was smiling.

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing, I just–” Seunghyun dragged a thumb across Jiyong's mouth and then kissed him softly. “I like you so much.”

 

He grinned – couldn't help but grin, broadly and most likely dopey as hell. Because something about hearing the words out loud made him dizzy and flustered. Jiyong choked out an idiotic giggle as he reclaimed Seunghyun's lips, relishing the touch of the boy's hands on his body; the way they fit together, the way they  _worked_. And when he drew away they were still smiling at each other. Seunghyun's eyes were impossibly bright. Jiyong wondered if his looked the same.

 

Ducking his head, he mouthed gently at the ridge of Seunghyun's jaw. Forty-eight hours after their first kiss wasn't exactly what he'd meant when he told himself “one day”, but he couldn't  _not_  say it back. Seunghyun deserved to hear him say it. And Jiyong wanted to. He did. But now his tongue seemed clumsy and his brain too slow.

 

Jiyong pushed his face into Seunghyun's neck, wedging his arms under the boy's shoulders. “I really like you, too,” he mumbled eventually.

 

The bone-crushing hug he received in response took him by surprise, Seunghyun flipping them over and shoving Jiyong into the pillows. He laughed, having no problems whatsoever with being squished within an inch of his life. Seunghyun practically nuzzled against him and he let his eyes close. Let his mind wander and his muscles go leaden as they settled. Jiyong had no idea how much time had passed when the slam of a door reverberated through the house and jerked them back to reality.

 

“Can we go back to your place?” Seunghyun asked in a small, sleepy voice.

 

He nodded, threading his fingers into Seunghyun's disheveled mop of hair.

 

“Yeah.”

 

*

 

Dami had already left for her shift at the bar by the time they made it to Jiyong's. He hung up their coats and pushed aside the tiny flash of guilt in his head for not having spoken to her yet. For not making amends. Whenever they had an argument, the aftermath always sort of lingered in the emptiness of the apartment and he never really felt at ease until they'd reconciled. But with Seunghyun there it wasn't as bad.

 

Jiyong lead him into the living room and they both sunk down onto the couch. Seunghyun had brought his laptop with him so they could watch a movie and zone out. Focus on something else. He drew his legs up and sagged against the boy's side once he'd leaned back, the opening titles of Ferris Bueller's Day Off appearing on the screen. Jiyong snorted.

 

“Really?”

 

“It's a classic, come on,” Seunghyun insisted, slinging an arm around his neck.

 

He refrained from mentioning that it was one of his favorite movies because the list of shit they had in common was getting kind of ridiculous. Staring up at the ceiling, Jiyong sighed and then inched further into Seunghyun's space. He had a hunch that it was going to become a  _thing_  soon – the cuddling. And when the arm around his neck moved lower to snake its way around his waist, he lost the battle with his smile.

 

As the movie played, Jiyong's attention drifted. In fact, he was closer to sleep than consciousness and the security of Seunghyun wrapped around him definitely wasn't helping. His eyelids were heavy, bobbing up and down against his will, and at some point he just gave in and tipped his head onto Seunghyun's shoulder. Jiyong was vaguely aware of dialogue and music in the background, Matthew Broderick's voice floating into his ears from the tiny computer speakers. But he passed out a few minutes later and didn't come to until after the movie had ended, his head in Seunghyun's lap and the boy's fingers in his hair.

 

“It's late. I should get going,” Seunghyun murmured.

 

Jiyong stretched and yawned, pleasantly fuzzy. Seunghyun still had his other hand on Jiyong's stomach and was rubbing faint circles into the fabric like he was an overgrown cat. Which was a comparison he wasn't all that upset with, actually. Because the idea of curling up against Seunghyun with those gentle fingers scratching at his scalp definitely sounded like the first step towards reaching nirvana. But Jiyong wasn't ready to say goodnight, lurching off the couch and scrubbing his face. He stifled another yawn as he looked at Seunghyun with bleary eyes.

 

“Or you could stay.”

 

Seunghyun stood, wearing a ghost of a smirk. “Are you sure? I thought you had to work tomorrow.”

 

“Not until five,” Jiyong mumbled and reached out to hook his fingers in the pouch of Seunghyun's hoodie. “Please?”

 

“Is this just a ploy to get me to take my clothes off?”

 

“Yes.” He nodded, laughing when he couldn't keep a straight face anymore.

 

Jiyong pulled Seunghyun through the darkness of the apartment to his bedroom, flicking the light on and shutting the door. Seunghyun gave him the sweetest grin and Jiyong absolutely didn't feel like he'd had the wind knocked out of him. He nibbled on his lip and fidgeted under the boy's scrutiny. This was only uncomfortable because he'd fantasized about it so much already. Was it lame that he imagined sleeping next to Seunghyun more than he imagined sleeping  _with_  him? Not that he didn't think about that. Jiyong had  _totally_  thought about that, but in limited detail since he was still a  _blushing virgin_. He came very close to hitting himself and jumped when Seunghyun cleared his throat.

 

“Sorry,” he muttered, shuffling over to the bed and yanking off his sweatshirt.

 

They stripped down to their t-shirts and boxers and Jiyong turned the light off before he had the chance to stare, guiding Seunghyun to the bed and forcing his brain not to make a huge deal out of this. But it was a huge deal. To him, anyway. He hadn't shared a bed with anyone since he was a kid. Because when their parents died, Jiyong had been plagued by nightmares for weeks and Dami would crawl under the covers with him until he'd stopped shaking.

 

He chose the spot next to the wall, Seunghyun climbing in after him. Jiyong lay there on his back, painfully still, and glared into the semi-darkness of the room. Less than three hours ago they'd been making out in Seunghyun's bed and here he was, over-analyzing and being incredibly fucking stupid.

 

“Jiyong,” Seunghyun whispered.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“What's wrong?”

 

Obviously Seunghyun knew he was being incredibly fucking stupid too. Jiyong cringed and sucked in a breath.

 

“I'm being an idiot,” he whispered back.

 

Seunghyun's laughter fanned out across his skin and Jiyong shivered, closing his eyes. He listened to the rustle of sheets as Seunghyun rearranged his body; plastering himself to Jiyong's side, molding his mouth to Jiyong's cheek and tangling their legs together. It was so perfect he wanted to die.

 

“You're nervous,” Seunghyun stated.

 

Jiyong swallowed and couldn't resist leaning into him. “A little.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I've been thinking about this a lot and now it's really happening and I'm trying not to freak out.”

 

“This as in...?” Seunghyun trailed off and Jiyong could feel him smiling.

 

_Of course you're smiling. I bet you're having a fucking blast._  He huffed through his nose and wriggled until they were facing each other. The yellow-orange glow from the streetlamp on the corner made it easier to see. Seunghyun's gaze was intense and it required all of his bravery to hold it.

 

“Falling asleep with you,” Jiyong confessed, bringing an unsteady hand to Seunghyun's face.

 

And at first Seunghyun didn't do anything – didn't speak, didn't even blink – just looked at him intently for the longest time. Jiyong worried for a brief moment that he'd said the wrong thing, but quickly reminded himself that Seunghyun was an asshole and probably just wanted to see him suffer. So he retaliated, following the line of Seunghyun's eyebrow with the edge of his thumb; following the slope of his nose and the arc of his mouth when it curled upwards again. Jiyong was so lost in his exploration that he didn't feel the hand on his hip moving until it was underneath his shirt – a hot palm gliding over his skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake.

 

He gasped and Seunghyun slid closer, their heads sharing the same pillow, and Jiyong basically gave up on breathing as the boy's lips hovered centimeters from his own. When Seunghyun eased forward to kiss him, oh-so-slowly pressing their mouths together, he shuddered and sighed and dug his fingers into the back of Seunghyun's neck.

 

*

 

Every morning that week, Jiyong woke up to Seunghyun's nose buried in the valley between his shoulder-blades. Or one of his legs thrown over Jiyong's waist. Sometimes, when they shifted in their sleep, they'd find themselves in the weirdest goddamn positions. Like Jiyong's face smushed in the curve of Seunghyun's armpit or their limbs thrown out at awkward angles – knees and elbows digging into soft tissue. And it really shouldn't have been comfortable at all, but somehow he never wanted to get up. Because Seunghyun's breath would seep through the cotton of his t-shirt or puff gently against the hollow behind his ear. Because Seunghyun's hand would rest, heavy and warm, over his stomach or the small of his back. Because nothing beat those first few moments of wakefulness when Jiyong soaked in the feeling of being held.

 

Or wallowed, actually. And he hated getting out of bed a thousand times more than he used to, even when he couldn't pretend that his morning wood wasn't poking Seunghyun in the side. It was only  _kind of_  mortifying, especially when Seunghyun looked at him like he wanted to help, but Jiyong always apologized and ran away to go take care of it in the shower. He wasn't ashamed. More afraid, really? Because he wasn't ready to admit how much he wanted to touch Seunghyun. To make Seunghyun come in his hand; his mouth. More than once he'd felt Seunghyun's dick nestled against his ass and it had been so difficult not to push back into the boy's hips. Or not imagine what it would feel like inside of him.

 

He knew they were going to have to talk about it soon. And Jiyong was starting to wonder why he jerked off in the bathroom to thoughts of Seunghyun when the boy was right there in his fucking bed – warm and real and totally gone on him. He let out a huge sigh, forehead resting against the cold tiles of the shower as he came down from his orgasm. Today was no different. Well, except for the fact that it was Christmas and Seunghyun was going to help him cook a massive dinner before his sister returned from the bookstore. It was his Forgive Me Feast. Laughing quietly, Jiyong held his face under the hot spray, cleaning himself off and finally leaving the shower. Seunghyun was still in bed stretched out on his stomach when Jiyong walked back into the room, so he sat on him.

 

“Get up.”

 

Seunghyun grunted, eyes closed and hair in disarray. He looked stupidly adorable and Jiyong felt a tiny bit of remorse for bothering him. But they had shit to do and he absolutely was not doing it alone.

 

“It's already after one, I'm serious,” Jiyong said, bending over to plant a kiss on Seunghyun's jaw because he was weak and easily swayed by cute, sleepy boys that drooled on his pillows.

 

“I can't get up if you're sitting on me.”

 

He scoffed, grinning. “Details.”

 

Next thing Jiyong knew, he was tumbling onto the mattress, laughing as Seunghyun rolled over and trapped him in his arms.

 

“You smell really good,” Seunghyun hummed into Jiyong's shoulder.

 

“And you smell like death, when was the last time you showered?” He couldn't even finish the question before Seunghyun's indignant cry filled the room and his face was being smothered by the boy's armpit. Again.

 

Jiyong cackled, fighting against Seunghyun's hold and struggling to breathe. It only got worse when Seunghyun began tickling him and then there were tears streaming down his cheeks and his stomach muscles were aching.

 

“Oh my fucking god  _stop_ ,” Jiyong whined between uncontrollable giggles.

 

Seunghyun's smile was 200% evil as he pinned Jiyong's hands to the bed, thighs clamped tight around his hips. They were both panting and a few more tears disappeared into his hairline. Seunghyun opened his mouth to speak, but Jiyong cut him off.

 

“Don't even. I know you're not actually sorry.”

 

Eyes narrowed and smirk firmly in place, Seunghyun ducked low to leave a sloppy, wet kiss on his forehead. And instead of being disgusted, like he totally should have, Jiyong felt his heartbeat stutter.

 

“It's not my fault you're so easy to fuck with,” Seunghyun murmured, voice deep and gravelly from sleep.

 

_Jesus, I need to get out of here._  Or else the stirring in his gut was going to turn into a super obvious boner and Jiyong really wasn't in the mood to address the elephant in the room. The elephant being sex. And sex being equal parts terrifying and something he desperately wanted. Seunghyun pressed another kiss to the edge of Jiyong's mouth, gentle and sweet and toe-curling. It was enough to make his brain go blank and his breath catch. But when he tilted his head in search of more – knowing he shouldn't yet needing it all the same – he was denied, Seunghyun pulling away at the last minute.

 

“Heyyy.” Jiyong frowned.

 

“Deal with it.”

 

“You tease.”

 

Seunghyun just arched one of his eyebrows and then crawled off of him, picking up his jeans from the floor. “I'm gonna take a shower.”

 

Jiyong snorted. “ _Uh-huh_.” And Seunghyun's lips split in a grin as he turned, walking out of the room.

 

Once he heard the bathroom door close, he reached down to adjust the crotch of his tight-ass jeans and groaned miserably. He was half-hard and still jittery from all the laughter and the rough-housing. Pushing up onto his elbows, Jiyong willed his dick to chill the fuck out instead of remembering how fantastic it felt to have Seunghyun's weight on top of him. To have his arms restrained; to see Seunghyun's eyes go dark.

 

_No, no, no, nope._  Jiyong flopped back on the bed and slapped a hand over his face. He should go to the kitchen and start preparing. He should not waste away in his bedroom lusting after his boyfriend who was currently naked and wet and–

 

_Boyfriend. Seunghyun is my boyfriend. Seunghyun is my_ boyfriend _, holy shit._

 

Jiyong's cheeks were on fire and, honestly, he was being absurd. But for some reason he'd never acknowledged that in his head. Had Seunghyun? He didn't know. Though he kind of wanted to find out. Huffing, Jiyong clambered out of bed and marched right into the kitchen, pointedly ignoring the sound of water running down the hall.

 

Clearly, this was going to be the longest fucking day ever.

 

 

*

 

 

“When does Dami get home?” Seunghyun asked, standing at the counter while he rolled cookie dough in his hands.

 

Jiyong stood next to him, placing the little balls in rows on the baking sheet and trying really hard not to let himself get distracted by the movement of Seunghyun's fingers. Fingers that were sticky with sugar and chocolate and  _ugh, this was a terrible idea._

 

It took him a second to realize he still hadn't answered the question.

 

“Around four,” he said distantly.

 

Which was only another hour away. Jiyong was getting antsy, gaze flicking over to the timer on the oven. The lasagna they'd made almost from scratch was just about done and the kitchen smelled amazing, but there were knots in his stomach and he kind of wished Dami was already here.

 

“Do you think she'll be happy?”

 

“She'll probably be more suspicious than happy.” Jiyong shrugged, swapping the first baking sheet out for an empty one as an excuse not to look at Seunghyun. “My apologies aren't normally this elaborate. But...I fucked up. And I know it's not enough. I just...I want things to go back to how they were.”

 

“I think you underestimate how much your sister loves you,” Seunghyun murmured and handed him another ball of cookie dough.

 

Jiyong set it on the sheet and then paused, head bowed as he scraped the metal edge with his thumb nail.

 

“What makes you so sure?”

 

“The way Dami talks about you. Like you're the only reason her world keeps spinning.”

 

He turned, eyes wide. He'd forgotten that Seunghyun and his sister had been getting to know each other without any help from him.  _Did_  already know each other, long before Jiyong had any idea who Seunghyun was. And it was enough to make him wonder if their paths would have crossed anyway. An inevitability, not a coincidence. Though now that it had happened, Jiyong couldn't imagine not knowing him.

 

Biting down on his lip, he blushed, ducking his head again. And he stayed quiet because he didn't really have a response. Jiyong took another ball of cookie dough from Seunghyun and let the comfortable silence fill the kitchen for a while. But eventually his thoughts got too crowded.

 

“I don't wanna fight with her, you know,” he picked up where they left off, the second baking sheet almost full now as he started rambling. “We don't see eye to eye on most things and it's hard, because she's so fucking stubborn. But so am I.”

 

Jiyong let out a hollow laugh, stepping away from the counter. He lifted his hand to run it through his hair, only to abort the action when he remembered his palms were covered in baking grease, so he wiped them on his jeans instead. Seunghyun was watching him closely when he glanced over, but he couldn't read the boy's expression.

 

“If my parents were still alive, I don't know how they'd react to me wanting to drop out,” Jiyong continued slowly. “My dad was pretty strict, but he was still willing to change his mind if you made a good enough argument.”

 

“Dami won't listen?”

 

His shoulders slumped and he dropped his gaze, shaking his head. Jiyong's chest tightened as he felt all the pressure he'd been doing his best to ignore tumble down around him like a thick curtain. The thought of having to force himself to go through with all of this crap just because Dami wanted him to made his world seem so fucking narrow; claustrophobic. He hated it. In every way. Inhaling shakily, Jiyong returned to his spot at the counter and was about to apologize for being such a ray of sunshine when Seunghyun's mouth was suddenly pressing against his temple. He smiled, eyes closing.

 

“We'll figure it out,” Seunghyun murmured, the conviction in his voice taking Jiyong by surprise.

 

The “ _we_ ” surprised him too. Because in the beginning Seunghyun had seemed so adamant about Jiyong finishing school. But when he looked up, Seunghyun's face was both determined and sympathetic. Jiyong stared at him for a long moment, wondering what he did to deserve this kind of loyalty; this kind of friendship he'd never known outside of the bond he had with his sister. Though it was more than friendship, wasn't it? Something deeper he'd really prefer  _not_  analyzing at the moment.

 

Leaning into Seunghyun, Jiyong bumped their shoulders together. “Thanks,” he muttered, feeling a bit shy. “For everything, really. I'm mostly useless in the kitchen.”

 

Seunghyun grinned down at him, nudging back. It was stupid, but the small gesture made his stomach flop all over the place and Jiyong was grateful for the diversion when the oven timer beeped loudly. He put on the oven mitts and took the lasagna dish out to set it on the stove, placing the first tray of cookies on the rack to bake.

 

“My parents kind of gave up on the whole parenting thing when I was really young, actually,” Seunghyun spoke as he scraped the last of the dough from the mixing bowl. “I still have a scar on my thigh from when I tried to make pasta for the first time and spilled boiling water all over myself. That was fun.”

 

Jiyong laughed, then felt horrible for laughing and coughed into his hand. “Your definition of fun is sort of fucked up.”

 

“Says the punk-ass kid who gets into fights just because,” Seunghyun countered.

 

Jiyong thwacked him in the arm and Seunghyun flicked a chocolate chip at his face, so he grabbed one of the dough balls from the baking sheet and stuffed it into Seunghyun's mouth, beaming the entire time. Seunghyun was trying to say something around the mouthful of cookie dough, but Jiyong couldn't understand. The only thing he understood was the gleam in Seunghyun's eyes and the way the boy was advancing on him; herding him into the corner by the fridge. He was laughing too hard to be afraid.

 

“Ur 'uch uh 'ick.” Seunghyun's garbled words were making more sense now as he chewed, one doughy hand pushing Jiyong into the wall.

 

Jiyong just laughed harder when Seunghyun kissed him, all sweetness and sugar and cigarettes. It was pretty gross and he didn't even care, just licked into Seunghyun's mouth and tugged him closer – both hands fisted in the material of his shirt.

 

“And you turned out all right,” Jiyong teased as he pulled away.

 

“What?”

 

“Despite your parents dropping the ball. You still turned out all right.”

 

Seunghyun chuckled, smirking around a finger as he sucked it clean. Jiyong swallowed.

 

“It's nice to know you think so highly of me.”

 

And then Seunghyun's mouth was on him again. Softer and slower. Enough to make his toes curl against the wooden floorboards. Jiyong lifted his hands to cup his jaw, holding him still. He kissed Seunghyun's upper lip, lingering there with his eyes open. The kitchen was warm from the oven and quickly filling with the scent of chocolate chip cookies and Jiyong slid his fingers into Seunghyun's hair, moving to kiss the boy's lower lip and then once more on the curve of his chin.

 

It was more than a little scary to think about how important Seunghyun was to him. But Jiyong was starting to learn that it went both ways. And sometimes that was even scarier.

 

Their eyes met as Jiyong leaned back, head knocking against the wall. Seunghyun's grip was firm on his waist and his cheeks were slightly pink, mouth hanging open and gaze hooded. It took entirely too much effort for Jiyong to chase away the idea of abandoning dinner altogether just so he could drag Seunghyun into his room and lock the door – an urge he had a lot more often now. He sighed and cracked a smile, letting his hands fall.

 

“Cookies,” Jiyong said, clearing his throat when the word came out a bit hoarse.

 

Seunghyun nodded, blinking. “Right. Cookies.”

 

The sound of the front door opening echoed in the hallway and they jumped apart. Jiyong laughed again and silently thanked his sister for having the best timing in the world. Because he wasn't exactly ready for Dami to walk in on them making out. Honestly, he'd probably  _never_  be ready for that.

 

They cleaned up and set the table while they waited for the cookies to finish baking, Dami sitting down while she asked Seunghyun questions about some book he'd bought at the shop a couple weeks ago. Jiyong was only half listening. His thoughts were bouncing back and forth between the way Seunghyun had kissed him and the way his sister had hugged him when he met her in the hallway. Both had left him feeling more than a little overwhelmed. Vulnerable, even. He told himself not to dwell on it.

 

Ruffling his hair, Jiyong focused on putting the cookies away for later and then nudged Seunghyun towards the table so they could eat. Dami was still babbling so he took it upon himself to serve everyone. Neither of them seemed to be paying much attention, but he didn't mind. Jiyong ate quietly and listened to the lively tones of their voices and wished his sister would always smile like that. She hadn't even accused him of having ulterior motives. Not yet, anyway.

 

“Seunghyun, you're not eating with your parents tonight?” Dami finally cut into her lasagna, stuffing a bite in her mouth so huge it made her cheeks bulge.

 

Jiyong didn't snort, but he wanted to; watching her inhale the food like she hadn't eaten in weeks. He chewed on his lip instead and picked at one of his fingernails to keep himself from laughing. Also because he was nervous, but he didn't really know why.

 

“No,” Seunghyun answered, and Jiyong caught a hint of a sad smile in his periphery. “We haven't celebrated Christmas in a long time.”

 

Dami frowned when she heard that, reaching over the corner of the table to squeeze Seunghyun's shoulder. “Well, I'm glad you're here.”

 

Without really thinking about it, Jiyong reached out too, slipping his fingers between the boy's larger ones where they rested on his thigh. Seunghyun looked down at him and his smile turned a few watts shy of blinding.

 

“Me too,” Seunghyun murmured, responding to Dami but staring at him and Jiyong knew he was turning an alarming shade of red.

 

He wanted to hide, well aware that he was probably broadcasting everything on his face – terror, embarrassment, affection. But before he could groan or roll his eyes and bury his head in his hands, Seunghyun's fingers tightened and he swayed closer to brush his lips against Jiyong's forehead.

 

Dami kind of made this weird squealing noise and tried not to clap out of what Jiyong assumed was excitement. “You two are so freakin' adorable.”

 

“Dami, please don't,” he sighed, sending her an unamused glare.

 

“What? It's just an observation.”

 

“Does that mean I get to make fun of you and Colin?”

 

Her exuberance vanished and she looked down her plate, tucking a lock of dark hair behind her ear. Jiyong mentally kicked himself.

 

“You owe him an apology, by the way,” Dami said quietly after a beat.

 

He leaned back in his chair, not really in the mood to think about how much of an idiot he'd been.  _Always an idiot_. Seunghyun's thumb rubbed over his knuckles and he concentrated on the slide of skin instead of the guilt he'd pushed to the recesses of his brain.

 

“Yeah. I know.” Jiyong nodded once, playing with the edge of his napkin. “So do you tell each other everything now, or what?”

 

The corner of Dami's mouth lifted as she glanced at him, uncharacteristically bashful.

 

“...we talk. Food may or may not have been involved when said talking occurred.”

 

Jiyong narrowed his eyes. “How many dates have you been on?”

 

“Six,” she replied quickly, averting her gaze even quicker.

 

“Dami!”

 

“I like him a lot, okay!”

 

Dami laughed and shook her head, stuffing another heaping fork of lasagna into her mouth like she couldn't believe this conversation was actually happening. Jiyong's mind reeled.  _Six dates?!_  How the fuck had he failed to notice something like that? And why was this even a surprise? He should have seen it coming from a mile away. But for some reason he felt shocked. Betrayed, maybe. Because they weren't as close as they used to be and Dami usually wasn't so secretive. Jiyong scrubbed a hand over his face.

 

“This is so fucking strange,” he muttered, looking over at Seunghyun. “What are you smirking at?”

 

“Nothing.” Seunghyun grinned again and unlinked their fingers to wrap his arm around Jiyong.

 

Jiyong scoffed. “Sure.”

 

But all he got in return was that stupid grin. Dami was watching them with poorly concealed glee, chin cradled in her palm. Jiyong did roll his eyes this time. “Would you cut it out?”

 

“Nope,” she said, taking another bite and mumbling, “There's too much cute going on right now.”

 

“Don't talk with your mouth full.”

 

And Dami slapped a hand over her mouth as she practically cackled, saluting with the other and choking out a sarcastic, “Yes, dad.”

 

He gaped at her, eventually breaking down into laughter himself and pressing his face into Seunghyun's shoulder. If anything, that was a clear sign that they were going to be okay. Were  _already_  okay. Jiyong couldn't believe that she'd actually said it in the first place.

 

“That's totally unfair,” he groused and crossed his arms over his chest.

 

“Life is unfair, baby brother.” Dami set her fork down, leveling him with a bittersweet tilt of her lips. “We know that better than most.”

 

A lump had formed in Jiyong's throat and he couldn't swallow, that sense of vulnerability coming back tenfold. Seunghyun probably had no idea what was going on, the language of siblings always a little hard to translate. He'd get used to it at some point. Maybe enough to start speaking it himself. Jiyong hadn't even realized how much he wanted that until the thought popped into his head. And before he could keep following that train of thought into more dangerous territory, Dami rose from her seat.

 

“Sorry to cut this short, boys,” she said with a sigh, moving to put her dishes in the sink. “But I need to be at the bar in an hour.”

 

“Before you leave you have to tell me at least one horribly embarrassing story from Jiyong's childhood,” Seunghyun all but begged. “It's pretty much a requirement.”

 

Jiyong tried to shove Seunghyun off of him, but the boy's arm just tightened, holding him prisoner.

 

“You fucking traitor!”

 

Dami was giggling at the counter while Seunghyun wrapped both arms around him to stop his attempts at escape. “He has a point, Ji.”

 

“Fuck,” Jiyong whined into Seunghyun's neck. “I hate both of you.”

 

“Shh...it'll all be over soon.”

 

And for the next few minutes he had to listen to Dami recount the time she'd caught him singing in the bathroom mirror when he was nine, wearing nothing but his much-loved Spiderman briefs. He'd flailed so hard he smacked himself in the face and then slammed the door even harder. It had almost rattled off the hinges. Dami said he'd turned so red she thought he was going to pass out. Jiyong remembered laying down on the cold tiles, humiliated, and refusing to unlock the door under any circumstances. Not even when their mom tried to lure him out with the promise of pizza – a rare treat that she only offered on special occasions.

 

Jiyong still had his head buried in Seunghyun's neck, feeling the rolling chuckles as the boy struggled to breathe.  _Please just let me die._

 

“What song was he singing?” Seunghyun asked once he'd calmed, running his fingers through Jiyong's hair.

 

Dami snorted. “”I Want You Back” by the Jackson 5.”

 

They dissolved into hysterical laughter again and he slumped, boneless in surrender.

 

“I'm going to murder both of you in your sleep,” Jiyong threatened weakly.

 

“He stopped singing after that.”

 

“Yeah, I can't imagine  _why_ ,” he muttered.

 

Dami tsked and Jiyong felt her poke him in the back of the head. “Get over it,” she said. He could hear the smile in her voice and then her footsteps as she left the kitchen.

 

Seunghyun started humming “I Want You Back” as they cleared the table and put leftovers in the fridge. Jiyong scowled and threw a wet sponge at his face.

 

*

 

Sprawled out on his bed, Jiyong smoked a cigarette, plastic ashtray balanced on his chest. Seunghyun was on the floor leaning against the bedframe, rummaging through his backpack and mumbling to himself. Dami had already gone, but he'd made sure to send her off with a container full of cookies to bring to the bar. Jiyong was hung up on their brief exchange in the darkness of the hallway before she'd walked out the door.

 

“ _Thank you, Jiyong._ ”

 

“ _Um,_   _for what?_ ”

 

“ _For being you._ ”

 

He wasn't really sure what she'd meant by that. But he figured it wasn't a bad thing. Seunghyun pulled himself onto the mattress then, something in his hand. Jiyong flicked ash into the tray and took another drag.

 

“I have something for you.” Seunghyun held out a gift that had been wrapped in richly decorated paper – swirling silver and gold over midnight blue.

 

Jiyong froze, fingers suspended in the air above his lips as he stared at Seunghyun then at the gift and then at Seunghyun again. He exhaled gingerly and set the ashtray on his bedside table, sitting up to protest. “Seunghyun, you–”

 

“Just shut up and take the damn thing,” Seunghyun all but grumbled, pushing the present into his hand.

 

Jiyong huffed, a slow smile creeping onto his face. He finished the cigarette and put it out, tracing a golden spiral on the wrapping paper with the tip of his finger. What was this now? Present number two?

 

“You really didn't have to do this. I don't have anything to give you.”

 

Seunghyun shrugged, reaching over to place a hand on Jiyong's leg, head lowered and voice soft. “I got to spend Christmas with you and Dami.”

 

_Oh my god_. Jiyong made a noise, he didn't know what kind of noise because he was too busy tackling Seunghyun down onto the bed. “Ugh, you're the worst!” he nearly yelled.

 

“And you still love it,” Seunghyun laughed, fighting against the grip Jiyong had on his wrists. “Now open your stupid Christmas present.”

 

Jiyong sighed heavily and narrowed his eyes, letting go of Seunghyun to sit at the edge of the mattress. He didn't really feel worthy of something like this, but Seunghyun would probably always insist otherwise. Carefully, Jiyong stripped the wrapping paper away until it revealed a book.  _Of course it's a fucking book._  A collection of selected poems by a woman named Mary Oliver. Jiyong had never heard of her.

 

“Here...” Seunghyun said, the bed dipping as he curled around Jiyong from behind – long legs bracketing his hips and hands taking hold of the book to flip through the crisp pages. Seunghyun paused when he'd found what he was looking for and hooked his chin over Jiyong's shoulder. “This one's my favorite. Do you know it?”

 

He looked at the title, “Wild Geese”, and shook his head.

 

“No. Will you read it to me?”

 

Seunghyun scoffed. “Jiyong, you have eyes.”

 

“So?” He leaned back into Seunghyun's chest, mumbling without embarrassment, “Your voice is really hot.”

 

That won him a surprised chuckle, Seunghyun groaning fondly before caving. Jiyong smiled and let his eyelids drift shut while he listened.

 

“You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting,” Seunghyun began, the rumble of his words vibrating through Jiyong as he spoke. “You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.

 

“Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again. 

 

“Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting – over and over, announcing your place in the family of things.”

 

When Seunghyun finished, Jiyong said nothing; trying to hang onto the sound of those words coming from Seunghyun's mouth. They'd been spoken with familiarity, like Seunghyun had read them countless times. It was a beautiful poem. One that resonated, which Jiyong figured was probably the point, and it kind of felt like Seunghyun was sharing a secret.

 

_You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves_.

 

The quiet moment stretched out between them. Seunghyun inhaled slowly but didn't say anything either, tightening one arm around Jiyong's waist.

 

“You're ridiculous,” he half-whispered, drawing another laugh out of Seunghyun.

 

“It made me think of you, the first time I read it."

 

Shifting, Jiyong craned his neck to face him and didn't even think twice about leaning in to capture Seunghyun's lips. The book fell to the floor and warm hands moved to press against his stomach and his cheek. Jiyong's heart felt like it was in his throat, but he didn't care. He decided that he was over avoiding this. He was over holding back. Jiyong wanted to erase all the imaginary lines in his head until there were none.

 

Seunghyun laid them both onto the bed, twisting around and pinning Jiyong beneath him with the weight of his body. Jiyong moaned happily into his mouth and didn't give a shit if he was being loud because Dami wasn't here and the neighbors could go fuck themselves. This was about the two of them. Nothing else mattered.

 

Fingers traveled down his sides, Seunghyun slipping one of his hands under Jiyong's shirt and making him gasp. His stomach muscles jumped at the touch and Seunghyun's smile bloomed against his lips. Jiyong smiled back, his own fingers buried in Seunghyun's hair as he kissed him harder. There was a burst of excitement in his chest. Of bliss and anticipation and so many things. He rocked up into Seunghyun, chasing after that feeling, and now they were both moaning – low and already a little breathless.

 

They kissed for ages. Or maybe more, he didn't know. But Jiyong was so hard in his jeans and every swipe of Seunghyun's tongue against his was driving him crazy, making him shiver. Seunghyun brushed a thumb over his nipple, the pads of his fingers pressing in between the dips of his ribs, and Jiyong's hips bucked automatically. He sucked in another gasp, feeling over-sensitive. Almost like he was buzzing. It was the strangest thing.

 

“Jiyong...” Seunghyun pulled away slightly to look him in the eye, lips twitching as his hand moved lower over hip and thigh to settle on the bulge in his jeans.

 

Jiyong's mouth fell open as he sighed. “Yeah?”

 

“Have you ever done this before?”

 

“N–no,” he stuttered when Seunghyun applied a bit of pressure to his cock. “Are you surprised?”

 

Seunghyun grinned. “No.”

 

Jiyong laughed and choked on a groan, Seunghyun palming him a little more roughly and stealing the breath from his lungs.  _Fuck._  He rolled his hips against that hand, trying to hold Seunghyun's gaze, but even just looking at the boy made him dizzy. A wave of pleasure rippled out from Jiyong's gut and he found himself smiling again.  _Please don't stop_ , he thought.  _Never. Never stop._

 

Seunghyun dragged wet kisses along his jaw, biting at the tender spot underneath his ear and down the side of his neck. Jiyong's skin prickled with so much heat. Too much. He was on fire.

 

Seunghyun licked at the hollow of his throat and Jiyong arched into his mouth, hips rolling without thought. He needed more friction – wanted Seunghyun's fingers wrapped around his cock. But this felt so fucking good.  _Oh god_. Jiyong whined, tugging Seunghyun up to reclaim his lips. Lips that he'd made red and swollen with the ridges of his teeth.

 

“Please touch me.” Jiyong pushed against Seunghyun's hand. “I want y–”  _Oh,_  he broke off into a loud moan, eyes clenching shut because Seunghyun had rocked down onto his thigh and he was just as hard.

 

A wide smile spread across Seunghyun's face as he did it again, their foreheads locked together.  _I love it when you smile._ And Jiyong was definitely buzzing now, all lit up and tingling and perfect.

 

“You want me to what?” Seunghyun asked, panting softly.

 

He tilted his chin, just barely grazing Seunghyun's mouth with his own. Jiyong could answer that question in a number of ways, but he didn't think he was ready for more than heavy petting. The effort it took for him to even say this out loud had his cheeks burning and his heart beating unevenly in his chest.

 

“Touch me,” Jiyong whispered,eyes flickering over Seunghyun's face. “Make me...” he swallowed thickly, “make me come.”

 

“Fuck, Jiyong.”

 

Seunghyun exhaled and brought both of his hands up to bury them in Jiyong's hair. He tried not to mourn the loss of pressure, which wasn't much of a problem when Seunghyun was kissing him like this – lazy and dirty, the way he was discovering he liked better than all the others.

 

It didn't take long for his jeans and his boxers to be pushed down around his thighs; his shirt caught under his armpits. Jiyong trembled beneath Seunghyun's hands and made a lot of embarrassing noises, especially when Seunghyun's long fingers eventually grazed the dark nest of his pubic hair and wrapped around him.

 

“Jesus,” he hissed, marveling at the feeling of someone else's hand on his cock.

 

Seunghyun stroked him from base to tip, eyes never leaving his, and he keened – shaking and clutching at the sheets. It was amazing even though his entire body was pulled taut like a bowstring, muscles almost painfully tense. Seunghyun's thumb swiped over the head, smearing precome into his skin, and Jiyong released an unsteady breath. He moaned without filter once Seunghyun started an even rhythm, hips jerking up into the boy's fingers. His eyelids fluttered and the pressure built until he almost couldn't handle it anymore.

 

Reaching out, Jiyong grabbed Seunghyun by the neck to crush their mouths together, desperate for more contact. Seunghyun hummed into the kiss, flicking his wrist. Jiyong's everything sparked with pleasure and his body seized up, the wet slide of Seunghyun's tongue finally sending him over the edge. He came with a sharp gasp and Seunghyun stroked him through it until he'd stopped shuddering.

 

“Ohmygod,” Jiyong panted, his chest heaving.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

He gave a weak laugh and nosed into Seunghyun's cheek. “Are you insane? That was awesome.”

 

More than awesome, it was the best fucking orgasm he'd ever had. Jiyong was liquid and warmth and all frayed nerve-endings and he never wanted it to fade. He felt Seunghyun's responding chuckle in his bones, every inch of him attuned to the slightest movement.

 

“Good,” Seunghyun murmured, “I was worried I'd have to try again.”

 

Jiyong snorted, pulling him close for more slow kisses. “If you think we're done here, you're sorely mistaken,” he mumbled against his lips.

 

Seunghyun remained quiet, merely rising up to wipe his hand off on his shirt and then lift it over his head. At the sight of all that soft skin, Jiyong felt his breath hitch. He was nervous at the prospect of being able to touch Seunghyun the same way the boy had touched him, but he wanted it. He wanted to make Seunghyun moan. He wanted to hear him fall apart and know that he was the reason for it.

 

Carefully, Jiyong pulled his boxers back up over his hips and used the dirty t-shirt to clean off his stomach. He kicked his jeans to the floor, sitting up beside Seunghyun where he was kneeling on the mattress. And it was with shaky fingers that Jiyong held onto Seunghyun's waist, tentatively placing his mouth over the hard peak of his collarbone.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the poem "Wild Geese" belongs to Mary Oliver and I take no credit for her beautiful words


	11. Chapter 11

Before they knew it, another week passed and New Years Eve had reared its ugly head. It meant that break was almost over. That they’d have to go back to school and his days would no longer entail peaceful diner shifts and entire afternoons full of Seunghyun. Sometimes they wouldn’t even get out of bed until Jiyong had to leave for work, too lost in their murmured conversations. In the comfort of their limbs overlapping and slow kisses that always ended in laughter. He would miss all the hours spent on the couch, too. Or at the kitchen table or even the brief rides in Seunghyun’s car when the weather wasn’t too bad. Winter always made Jiyong so lazy--his existence narrowed into bedsheets and burger grease.

 

“You’re gonna be late.”

 

Jiyong groaned, pushing his face into Seunghyun’s side and tightening his arms around the boy’s waist. “Don’t care.”

 

It was just after five and the sun was setting, yet another reason winter sucked. They’d been there all day and the light peeking through his window had hardly shifted from the same bleak, dishwater gray. It was depressing. And unmotivating. And...depressing. Jiyong felt the vibration of Seunghyun laughing underneath him and smiled anyway.

 

“Terrible liar, remember?”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“Nope.” Seunghyun poked him in the cheek, making him squirm.  “You really need to get ready.”

 

Letting out a low whine, Jiyong burrowed further into the bed, trying to hide himself between Seunghyun’s body and the mattress. That, of course, just made Seunghyun laugh even harder.

 

“Jiyong…”

 

“I don’t wanna. You’re so comfortable.” His voice was muffled, but he knew Seunghyun understood every word because he heard the sound of a book closing and being set on his side table.

 

“Do I need to bribe you?” Seunghyun asked, fingers tracing circles into Jiyong’s back.

 

He huffed, grumbling as he extricated himself, rolling over onto Seunghyun’s stomach. “Do I need to remind you that you’re supposed to be coming with me? I don’t see _you_ leaving this bed, asshole.”

 

That earned him a snort. “Maybe I changed my mind,” Seunghyun teased, lifting both hands to thread them into the bird’s nest on top of Jiyong’s head.

 

Jiyong blinked slowly at him and fought the beginnings of another smile. _You think you’re so fucking cute, don’t you._

 

“Then I guess it won’t be a problem when I give my midnight kiss to Anna instead.”

 

Seunghyun hummed, pursing his lips while his fingers toyed with strands of Jiyong’s hair, no doubt making it messier than it already was.

 

“I thought Frankie was more your type.”

 

“That’s gross. You’re gross,” Jiyong stated flatly.

 

A grimace formed on his face when he allowed that thought to sink in and he propped himself up on his elbows to glare down at this idiot. But Seunghyun just chuckled, the deep sound rumbling through him, and Jiyong found himself watching the way Seunghyun’s eyes crinkled at the corners; cheeks creased with twin dimples as his mouth split wide in a grin. Defenseless against such things, Jiyong dropped back down to hide, his nose smushing against Seunghyun’s chest and making the boy grunt in surprise.

 

He felt the ribcage beneath him expand and an amused sigh ruffled his hair.

 

“I’m not gonna miss the party, don’t worry.”

 

“Yeah, because you have nowhere else to be.”

 

Really, he should have anticipated what happened next, but Jiyong totally yelped anyway when Seunghyun flipped them over and pinned him to the bed. Hot breath fanned across his skin, Seunghyun’s lips grazing his jawline. Jiyong’s heart kicked into overdrive and his stomach flopped violently. _Still_. Because Seunghyun always made him feel like he was falling and no fistfight in the world would ever compare to that.

 

“Even if I did, it wouldn’t change anything. You know that, right?” Seunghyun whispered, mouth traveling closer and closer to Jiyong’s but never quite making contact.

 

He tilted his chin to close the gap, except Seunghyun leaned away at the last minute. Jiyong huffed in frustration.

 

“I mean it,” Seunghyun insisted through quiet laughter, his eyes bright despite the darkening room.

 

Jiyong brought a hand to his face, thumb tracing along the indent of a prominent dimple, and offered a sleepy smile in return. He knew. Seunghyun had yet to give him reasons to believe otherwise--always constant, never wavering. It was just that knowing and believing were two very different things, and Jiyong wasn’t quite sure he’d convinced his brain that this was his life. That there was someone in the world besides Dami who had decided Jiyong was important enough to be their priority. Which was such a heady realization to have. Jiyong stared up at Seunghyun, not bothering to filter everything he was currently feeling. The wonder, the overwhelming knowledge of being wanted. He hoped it wouldn’t always be a difficult pill to swallow.

 

“Yeah,” he said eventually, nodding. “I know.”

 

“Good.” Seunghyun pressed his cheek more firmly into the curve of Jiyong’s hand, eyelids falling shut. “Wasn’t sure if I’d have to convince you.”

 

Jiyong bit down on his lip to reign in a giggle and rolled his eyes.

 

“Oh? And what would that’ve entailed?”

 

“Not telling,” Seunghyun murmured.

 

A wicked smirk curled its way onto Seunghyun’s face, his long lashes fluttering as they opened again, and then he bent low to kiss Jiyong softly.

 

“I’m not getting in the shower until you give it up.” Jiyong pinched his side and Seunghyun jumped, the boy’s hips rolling just enough for Jiyong to feel him through his flannel pants. They both tensed.

 

“What if--” Seunghyun paused and took in a careful breath, nosing into the hairs at Jiyong’s temple. “I offered to get in the shower with you?”

 

He couldn’t have responded faster if he tried, blurting an enthusiastic, “ _Sold!_ ” and immediately scrambling out from under Seunghyun, tugging on the boy’s hand and practically bolting from his room. Seunghyun’s laughter echoed in the hallway along with the slap of their bare feet. It echoed against the tiles of the bathroom too, but Jiyong turned that laughter into something else as soon as they were huddled close beneath the hot spray.

  


*

  


Frankie’s Diner had undergone an overnight transformation for their little New Years’ party, every surface covered in all manner of cheesy holiday decorations. It was due mostly to Heather and Viv’s enthusiasm for celebrations in general and Jiyong’s eyebrows were doing their best to crawl into his hairline as he took everything in.

 

Blue and silver ropes of tinsel lined the windows and hung in graceful arcs from the edge of the lunch counter. Their fake Christmas tree was still on display, except the ornaments had been replaced with glittery stars and hearts. A layer of colorful streamers criss-crossed along the ceiling and shiny, metallic balloons floated in every corner, announcing happily on their bloated faces that it was 2014 and boy were they excited about it.

 

 _Jesus_.

 

Anna wasted no time once she’d spotted him, accosting him at the doorway and snapping a paper party hat to his beanie-clad head before he could protest.

 

“Hiya, sweet stuff,” she greeted, all smiles.

 

Jiyong narrowed his eyes. “I’m not wearing this hat.”

 

Anna’s smile curled into a smirk as she lifted a pair of those stupid plastic 2014-shaped glasses and forced them onto his face.

 

“All patrons and employees of Frankie’s must abide by the newly enforced dress code,” she recited smartly, leaning forward to smack a lipstick-heavy kiss to his cheek. “For tonight, anyway.”

 

Jiyong groaned, wrinkling his nose as he reached out to adjust her shimmery, tinsel headband. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

 

“Nope. Even Frankie’s participating.” Anna wiggled her fingers in his face. “There is no escaaape.”

 

Laughing, Jiyong looked over her shoulder, his eyes going wide as he found the man standing behind the counter dressed in a pristine white dress shirt, black blazer, and a goddamned bow-tie. Even more shocking, if possible, was the fact that Frankie’s balding head had become host to an alarmingly festive, alarmingly _gold_ top hat. “Holy shit,” he murmured.

 

“I know, right? We were all so stunned when he walked out of the back office, the entire diner was dead silent for like, ten seconds.”

 

“Only ten?”

 

“Yeah, well, I’m sure it would’ve been longer if Frankie hadn’t barked at us to get back to work.” Anna chuckled to herself. “Though I think Viv was seconds away from demanding to know who he was and what he’d done with our lazy, slob of a boss.”

 

“I think I’m actually bummed I missed that.”

 

“There’s always next year,” she sighed, squeezing his shoulder, and the curve of her lips turned fond again. “You look really nice, by the way.”

 

He glanced down at himself. “I’m wearing the same thing I always wear.”

 

“So what? I can’t give you a freakin’ compliment?”

 

Jiyong could only grin in response and blush. Anna winked, and after the others caught sight of him, he was bombarded by hugs and more lipstick-kisses and shoulder-squeezes than he could handle. It was a lot to deal with all at once--the tidal wave of affection--and he almost wanted to run away on instinct. But seeing all those joyful faces, actually feeling the sparks of their positive energy jump from their eyes and their mouths and their fingers… It was weird as hell. Because Jiyong wasn’t shutting any of it out.

 

When he managed to escape to hang his coat, he lingered there in the back hall, needing a moment. Jiyong braced himself with a hand against the wall and breathed, smoothing his damp hair away from his face before putting the cheap paper hat back on. The glasses were too much, he decided, to wear without the assistance of alcohol, so he removed them and tucked them into the collar of his shirt instead. He’d just give them to Seunghyun whenever he showed up later. Which made him snort with laughter at the incredible image his mind had created, because of course Seunghyun would look fucking adorable. Seunghyun was always adorable. And Jiyong was forever doomed.

 

Eventually he collected himself enough to return to the front, snagging his apron and tying it around his waist. Coffee pots in hand, he made the rounds to the few occupied tables. His steps were surprisingly light as he listened to the animated chatter of his coworkers and exchanged holiday greetings with customers. He tried to make it stick. Really, he did. But as the hours passed, Jiyong found he was too distracted by Seunghyun’s absence to pay attention to the jokes and stories being told. Or the laughter. Or even Anna and Heather dancing in the middle of the floor to the music playing from Leroy’s old radio. He’d texted Seunghyun earlier with no response; kept ducking into the bathroom to call him, but it always went straight to voicemail.

 

What the _hell_ was going on?

 

For the life of him, Jiyong couldn’t stop his horrible brain from imagining the worst. It was nighttime, ice on the ground, and a holiday notorious for its drunk driving accidents. That thought alone sent an arrow of panic right through his stomach and he ripped off his paper hat, leaving his friends and coworkers to grab his coat and brave the cold outside to smoke a much needed cigarette. He was in such a hurry that he forgot his beanie, and the frigid air nipped at his ears until he couldn’t feel them anymore.

 

Jiyong inhaled deeply, slumped against the brick wall of the alley as he smoked. When he looked up, the sky was still hidden by a thick layer of clouds. It felt like it was about to snow, something expectant hanging in the air, and it complemented the low hum of anxiety in his veins. Despite the temperature, Jiyong stayed outside to smoke another cigarette because the first one hadn’t done its job. He began pacing; told himself not to worry, that it was probably nothing, and that Seunghyun would be here soon. A nervous giggle crept out of his mouth and he groaned, cold-reddened fingers tearing through his hair. _He’ll be here. He will._

 

A third cigarette was sounding pretty damn nice even though he couldn’t feel his toes now and everyone inside was probably wondering what was taking him so long. But he couldn’t move, eyes trained on the parking lot entrance, begging the universe to listen to him.

 

“Come on,” he whispered, willing familiar headlights to appear while he rubbed at the chipped corners of his phone in his coat pocket.

 

When he’d first checked the time, it was almost ten o’clock. Jiyong pulled his cell out again. It was nearing ten-thirty. And just as he contemplated finally giving in, the distant purr of an engine had him freezing where he stood.

 

Seunghyun’s beat up Honda turned into the half-full parking lot. Jiyong had never been more overjoyed at the sight of that shitty car.

 

Beyond relieved, his mouth immediately cracked open in a smile, and he made his way over to the far corner where Seunghyun was already climbing out of the driver’s side door. But it slipped a little when a shadow seemed to flicker across the boy’s face.

 

“Hey,” Jiyong said quietly, his hand lifting to curl around Seunghyun’s arm. “What’s wrong?”

 

It was weird to be the one asking this time, having always been on the receiving end of concern from others. Jiyong stepped closer when dark eyes met his.

 

“It’s nothing.” Seunghyun offered a faint twitch of his lips and reached up to press his palm to Jiyong’s numb face, warming it some. “Sorry I’m late.”

 

 _You sound like me_. Jiyong almost laughed at their current role-reversal. But since laughter wasn’t exactly an appropriate response, he shook his head instead. “It’s okay. You sure you don’t wanna talk about it?”

 

Seunghyun shrugged. “Got in a fight with my dad. Not really worth talking about right now.”

 

He didn’t like the defeated tone of Seunghyun’s voice and took another step closer, shifting to wrap his arms around Seunghyun.

 

“Later, maybe? I mean, if you want to.”

 

“Yeah,” Seunghyun sighed, the word clouding the air between them.

 

Jiyong drew him in all the way and pushed his face into the worn material of Seunghyun’s hoodie. He felt Seunghyun’s body relax in his hold; felt the security of Seunghyun’s arms around him and the heat of his breath against his cheek. They stayed that way for a while, Jiyong’s eyes closed as he rubbed absently at Seunghyun’s back. He was just glad he’d mostly been losing his shit for nothing.

 

“I have to admit I was kinda freaked out when I realized you’d turned your phone off,” he mumbled after a long moment.

 

Seunghyun briefly hugged him tighter. “Fuck, I’m really sorry, Jiyong.”

 

Heaving another sigh, Seunghyun leaned away, cupping Jiyong’s face in both hands. His eyebrows came together and furrowed as he seemed to think about what to say, voice soft when he eventually did.

 

“I was...pissed off. Too angry to come here and pretend that I wasn’t, so I got in my car and drove away, because that’s what I always do.” Seunghyun released a humorless laugh and shook his head. “But I was already an hour outside of town by the time I figured out where I needed to be,” he continued. “Basically I was late because I’m a fucking idiot.”

 

Jiyong frowned. “You’re not an idiot.”

 

“Yeah, I am,” Seunghyun insisted, the smile on his face a bit wider than the last. “Because I should’ve known that the old tricks wouldn’t work anymore. Not when there’s you.”

 

New Years was turning out to be one hell of a night, wasn’t it. Jiyong’s throat closed up when he tried to swallow, stuck in the tractor beam intensity of Seunghyun’s gaze. He choked on a shy, semi-embarrassed huff and he swore his cheeks were thawing from the power of his blush alone.

 

“Seungh--”

 

But Jiyong’s grumbling was cut short by a pair of lips colliding with his as Seunghyun pushed him up against the car, and he moaned almost without meaning to. Not that he was a stranger to involuntarily produced sounds of pleasure at this point. It was just so easy for Seunghyun to get under his skin; had always been so. Jiyong’s fingers clenched at Seunghyun’s jacket, overcome by the heat flooding him from head to toe that seemed impossible in the arctic air. By the weight of Seunghyun’s body, the lazy drag of their tongues. Jesus, he could kiss Seunghyun for hours. Even if it meant getting hypothermia. However, Jiyong was technically still working, and his break had long since ended.

 

It took a lot of convincing for him to withdraw a little, brushing his mouth against Seunghyun’s gently and grinning when Seunghyun kept swaying forward to chase after him.

 

“You’d better not make out with me like this when midnight hits,” Jiyong mumbled, still pressing kisses to those addictive lips because he couldn’t stop.

 

Seunghyun huffed and leaned back, his eyes glinting under the amber glow of the streetlamp. “Why? Afraid Frankie will get jealous?”

 

His head tipped back onto the car as he nearly cackled, gasping for breath because that was so wrong and he should be mortified, not in stitches.

 

“ _No_ ,” Jiyong shoved Seunghyun lightly. “Fuck, you’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

 

“Probably not, no.”

 

“Maybe you are an idiot.”.

 

Which resulted in Seunghyun attacking his mouth again and he surrendered for a moment, giggling because he was an idiot, too. But he had to force him back again or else it would never end. “Seriously, we have to stop.”

 

Jiyong was panting now, buzzing the same way he did when Seunghyun first touched him and the way he has every time since. It was wonderful and yet really fucking not wonderful, because it wasn’t like they could just go at it right there in the parking lot no matter how much he wanted to. Seunghyun pouted-- _pouted_ \--and Jiyong sighed heavily.

 

“Save it for later, okay? I’d really prefer not having to deal with getting a hard-on in front of my boss and all of my coworkers.”

 

One of Seunghyun’s eyebrows arched skyward, the playful glint in his eye turning dangerous. “We _are_ standing right next to my car, you know.”

 

“What, are you gonna blow me in the backseat while everyone watches from the window?” Jiyong smirked, motioning with his head towards the diner. “Go on, look.”

 

He didn’t have to turn his head to know what Seunghyun saw, and the boy’s widening eyes were enough to confirm it.

 

“They’ve been there the whole time, haven’t they.”

 

“Yup.”

 

Jiyong waved at the nosy gossip-mongers without looking, focusing instead on Seunghyun’s face. On the sound of his amusement and how much brighter he seemed now than when he first stepped out of his car. “Embarrassed?” he asked.

 

“Not embarrassed,” Seunghyun replied, though the blush painting his cheeks hinted otherwise. “Just sort of amazed, I guess? I’m not used to...” he gestured vaguely at Frankie’s, “This.”

 

 _This_ didn’t need translation, because Jiyong knew exactly what Seunghyun meant. Because he’d been feeling the same about pretty much everything lately. The threads of his life, both old and new, were tangling together in a way that would have frightened him four months ago. In a way that he would’ve rejected completely without even thinking about it. And, admittedly, it was kind of a mindfuck that it had essentially happened in a blink, only needing the stubborn presence of the boy standing in front of him to set everything into motion, and now his universe was changing--taking a shape he thought he’d been safe from.

 

Shifting uneasily, Jiyong breathed in slowly and then let it out.

 

But that was okay. He knew that it was. Because whenever he closed his eyes he could see the tiny sliver of what his future might look like. What he wanted it to look like, now that Seunghyun was invariably linked to its outcome. Jiyong’s mouth curved and he extended a hand to tug on the boy’s jacket.

 

“They really like you, Seunghyun,” he murmured.

 

Slipping his hand into Jiyong’s, Seunghyun’s grin grew wider still. “Well, I really like them.”

 

The world seemed to stop for a moment while they stared at each other; seemed to pause and let him acknowledge to himself that yes, this was real. Jiyong chose to ignore all the bad shit for the time being. All the stress and the anger and the worries that normally clouded his thoughts. Tonight would be blemish-free. They deserved at least that much.

 

“Come on,” Jiyong urged, pulling on Seunghyun’s hand, “I’ve been standing outside for fucking ever and I feel like I have no nose.”

 

Seunghyun glanced down. “Are you…?”

 

Snorting, he rolled his eyes. He wasn’t even half-hard in his jeans, but the fact that he’d been caught making out with his boyfriend was a pretty solid boner killer anyway. Jiyong leaned into Seunghyun’s side and then started leading him across the parking lot.

 

“I’ll be fine.”

 

In fact, he was better than fine. Especially once they were inside the warmth of the diner and subjected to a flock of waggling eyebrows. Viv even made them put their lame party accessories on and pose for a picture, the cat clock looming behind them with its own silvery New Years headband. Which was unsettling on a level Jiyong didn’t know how to articulate.

 

“It looks even more insidious now,” he muttered, eyeing it warily from where he leaned against the counter.

 

“Jiyong, it’s just a clock.”

 

Seunghyun was beside him, the seriousness of his tone undermined by the dorky plastic “2014” glasses he’d yet to take off, and Jiyong had to snuffle into the curve of the boy’s shoulder.

 

“It creeps me out, okay? I have nightmares about that thing.” He edged closer, finding Seunghyun’s fingers and weaving them with his. “On more than one occasion, I’ve had dreams where it lurks at the end of my bed and waits for me to fall asleep so it can eat my toes.”

 

“Your brain, I swear…”

 

Jiyong smiled, elbowing Seunghyun in the side. “Don’t act like you don’t love my brain.”

 

His answer came in the form of a sly smirk and a brief, knowing glance, but Seunghyun didn’t deny it. Not that Jiyong expected him to. They’d been flirting with vocabulary for a while, dancing around the things they meant to say or were too afraid to voice. But Jiyong knew what the unbearable pressure in his chest was when he thought of, looked at, stood next to Seunghyun. The only thing that unnerved him, though, was how often the words had been ready to leap from the tip of his tongue, like it was _effortless_ or something, to give himself up like that.

 

“Fifteen minutes, folks!” called Leroy from the other side of the diner.

 

There was a small television rigged to the ceiling that they never turned on, but tonight they were using it to watch the countdown and the fireworks. Everyone was huddled at the counter underneath it, talking and laughing. Jiyong was surprised at how many regular customers had shown up for the party, faces he’d come to know pretty well over the years. Along with their usual orders and a collection of random details about their lives. George, a widower in his seventies who came in late at night to drink coffee and do the weekly crossword puzzle in the newspaper. Beth and her sister, Iris, who were friends of Viv’s and always ordered the breakfast special on Saturday mornings. Extra bacon, hold the onions. Their kids were here, too--Viv’s and Beth’s--having been allowed special late bedtime privileges because of the occasion. Jiyong remembered those days. Making elaborate deals with his parents just to win one more hour of wakefulness, that he usually wasted because he’d fall asleep right on schedule anyway, much to the amusement of his mother.

 

An unexpected pang of loss hit him square in the chest and he turned away from their smiling faces, the muscles in his back bunching uncomfortably.

 

Sensing the shift, Seunghyun wrapped an arm around him, mouth close to his ear when he asked, “You all right?”

 

 _Yes and no_. Jiyong released a careful sigh and nodded, but didn’t say anything else, just let Seunghyun tuck him into the curve of his body. Seunghyun’s curiosity and concern were still palpable despite his silence and he knew the part of him that wanted to tell the boy everything was going to win one of these days. He didn’t know when. Jiyong just hoped that he’d be ready whenever it did.

 

“Let’s go wait with the others,” he suggested, pulling on Seunghyun’s arm and giving him a slight smile.

 

Because he’d told himself no bad shit, yet here he was doing exactly that. Seunghyun returned the smile readily, though, stepping forward to drag Jiyong towards the end of the counter.

 

It didn’t take much for him to shed the negative thoughts and he slipped into easy conversation with the people he’d come to know as extended family. If there was one monumental life lesson Jiyong had learned this year, it was that he was really, really not good at keeping the people around him at a distance. And that if he tried to push them away it usually resulted in him feeling like the biggest piece of shit that ever existed.

 

So he didn’t.

 

He didn’t think about what he was doing, either. Just let that positive energy take him. And when the clock struck midnight, raucous cheers filled the diner. A couple bottles of champagne were going around while everyone embraced and sang Auld Lang Syne--Frankie’s scratchy, off-key baritone more deafening than the rest--and Jiyong couldn’t help it, he just started laughing.

 

“Are you gonna tell me what’s so funny, or do I have to guess?” Seunghyun asked, grinning but obviously confused as to why he was behaving like a crazy person. Withdrawn one moment, then hysterical the next.

 

Jiyong nibbled on his lip and shook his head. “I’m laughing at myself. And at life in general.”

 

“I see.” Seunghyun squinted at him, as if trying to read his mind. “Will I get to hear the unedited version of this later?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“Awesome.”

 

Snorting out another giggle, Jiyong tilted his head back and breathed and attempted to calm down. He felt Seunghyun’s hand move to his neck, the boy’s thumb stroking the hairs at his nape. Sounds of happiness continued to float around the diner and Jiyong remembered that they’d forgotten something.

 

“Seunghyun?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

Jiyong turned, reaching up to ease the plastic glasses from Seunghyun’s face and set them on the counter.

 

“Happy New Year,” he uttered softly, grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

 

Seunghyun’s hand slid into his hair and Jiyong’s eyes fell shut, not at all startled when Seunghyun’s smiling mouth met his. It was a sweet kiss. _My first New Years smooch_. Jiyong didn’t mean to, but he started cracking up again, his eyes popping open to find Seunghyun regarding him with an expression that looked a lot like the way the pressure in his chest felt.

 

“M’sorry.”

 

With a roll of his eyes, Seunghyun leaned forward and smacked an obnoxious kiss against his cheek. “Happy New Year, Jiyong,” he murmured into his ear, gathering him up in his arms.

 

Though just when Jiyong thought his heart couldn’t take any more, he gradually became aware of additional pairs of arms wrapping around the two of them--Anna, Viv, Heather, even Leroy. He was squished so tight in the middle of this multi-layered human sandwich that he couldn’t even move. All he could do was laugh some more, since that seemed to be his default reaction to literally everything tonight. Jiyong whined when Anna squeezed him a bit tighter.

 

“I love all of you so much,” she cried.

 

Jiyong kind of wanted to throw up. But that was okay, too.

  


*

  


The party didn’t last much longer after the ball dropped. Some lingered, but Viv and Beth were the first to make their goodbyes, groggy children in tow. Frankie was next. The old man even paused to clap Jiyong on the shoulders with his arthritic hands and told him to “be safe” before nodding once awkwardly and then walking out the door. Which was really fucking odd, since Frankie was never sentimental and had rarely spoken to Jiyong in the last year and a half without raising his voice. It added to that cumbersome sort of realization that things were changing. Or that they already had and he was just now beginning to see how much.

 

Unsettled, Jiyong returned to the counter, pretending to listen to Anna and Heather’s conversation about some TV show he’d never heard of. He was too busy watching everyone--absorbing the small details. How Anna’s nose wrinkled when she laughed; the way Heather’s eyes seemed like they were about to pop out of her skull when she was excited about something. Seunghyun was behind them, talking to Leroy. Jiyong couldn’t really hear them, but he’d bet money that they were having some ridiculously analytical exchange about music. And in a moment that was truly surreal, he felt this weird sort of displacement, like he’d taken a step outside of his own body and was now a passive observer to his own life. He’d had moments like this before, sure. But something about the way it was happening right now struck him in a very profound way.

 

Because New Years had always seemed like such a joke to him in the past. Everyone got so jazzed about this _thing_ that was, in reality, actually pretty arbitrary and unexceptional and totally made up. Except somehow it had become this symbol of _beginnings_ and hitting the refresh button, like January 1st was really going to be any fucking different than the day that came before or after.

 

But the hilarious part, was that he didn’t want it to be an illusion this time.

 

Jiyong flew back to himself then, Anna nudging him in the arm because she’d asked a question and apparently he’d just stared blankly at nothing as a response. He groaned, apologetic, but inside he was still trying to catch up.

 

“Sorry.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I think I’m just tired.”

 

“Then get the hell outta here,” Anna nagged playfully.

 

She smiled and drew him in for yet another hug, Heather doing the same immediately after.

 

“Happy New Year,” Jiyong said again, meeting both sets of warm eyes and finding that he really meant it.

 

The acknowledgment of that made him feel overly full, but he was reaching his limit. And when they kissed his cheeks and then sent him over to Leroy, it was all he could do not to just collapse out of emotional exhaustion. Seunghyun noticed this, as he always did, and he was quick in his own farewells before collecting their coats and herding them out the door.

 

Jiyong inhaled deeply, the cold air stinging his throat and his lungs. They didn’t say anything as they walked to the car. They didn’t say anything on the short drive to Jiyong’s apartment. No words were spoken until the door was locked behind them and they’d taken refuge on the couch. But even then they came gradually. Jiyong was tucked up sideways against the cushions, his back digging into the armrest as he toyed with the pocket of Seunghyun’s hoodie and thought about how to start this. Yeah, he was tired, but he didn’t want to go to sleep without giving Seunghyun the opportunity to clear his head first. He knew how much that sucked.

 

“So…” Jiyong prompted.

 

Seunghyun tossed him a smile through the shadows of the apartment, reaching up to curl his arm around Jiyong’s legs, chin propped on his knee.

 

“The thing with my dad isn’t as horrible as you’re probably thinking.”

 

“Still.” He brought his other hand to Seunghyun’s hair. “If you need to vent, I’m listening.”

 

Another extended pause settled into quiet, the sound of tires crushing snow as a car passed on the street below, and Seunghyun sighed. He wrapped his arm around Jiyong’s legs a bit tighter, wedging his fingers into the space between his thigh and his calf. The silence stretched so thin Jiyong had almost given up hope that he’d speak again, but then Seunghyun’s low voice finally rumbled back to life, barely louder than a whisper.

 

“He thinks he can still control me just because I live under his roof. Like my dependence on him financially somehow means he fucking owns me, even though he could give two shits about who I am.”

 

Gently, Jiyong stroked his hair, rubbing a thumb against his temple in an effort to remove the hard knot from his brow.

 

“Who I am right now, I mean. If I did everything he wanted me to, he’d probably stop being such a fucking prick, but I won’t.” Seunghyun huffed once through his nose and turned to stare at Jiyong in the dark as he continued. “I can’t do that. And I don’t even care if he throws me out and cuts me off, I just wish he’d make up his fucking mind about where he stands, instead of tearing into me whenever it’s convenient for him.”

 

Jiyong frowned, the edges of his mouth tugging down so hard he felt a twinge in his muscles. He’d known things were less than great for Seunghyun at home, but hearing exactly to what extent made his stomach twist, and he had no idea what to say to make it better. He understood what it was like to have someone else’s expectations forced upon you. What it was like to fall short of who or what they wanted you to be. Though he couldn’t decide if it was better or worse that Dami actually loved the shit out of him despite this.

 

With careful movements, Jiyong spread his legs and drew Seunghyun down until he was nestled in the curve of his body. He didn’t tell him he was sorry, even though he was. Saying sorry was like the textbook response to anything even remotely sad or unfortunate and he hated how disingenuous it seemed. So he kept his mouth shut, pressing it to Seunghyun’s head, and wrapped his arms around him in lieu of apologies.

 

As far as he could tell, it was more than enough, because the boy relaxed into him in a way he rarely had--perfectly boneless and with a weight that translated as relief. Relief that Jiyong was there, that he existed. Offering comfort to someone else was still such a new concept for him, but Seunghyun made it easier. Seunghyun made so many things easy. Things Jiyong had once thought himself incapable of.

 

They stayed there, not talking, for a long while. His tiredness plateaued to the point where he didn’t even notice it anymore, just floated in thought with his face buried in Seunghyun’s hair as he stroked his back. These were the kind of moments he wanted to live inside of forever, because when they were here, like this, nothing could touch them. Nothing could hurt them. Here, Jiyong wasn’t afraid of anything. Except, maybe, for how much he cared about Seunghyun. How much he loved him.

 

He didn’t want to keep it a secret in his head anymore, but it still scared him shitless. Because before this, his world had consisted of very little. Now it was so much **bigger** and Seunghyun was unwittingly giving him the courage to be okay with that. To embrace it. Just by virtue of loving Jiyong back. He almost laughed, clamping his legs around Seunghyun and grinning into his hair. Jesus, this was so bizarre.

 

“What?” Seunghyun mumbled, already sounding sleep-drunk.

 

“Nothing.” Jiyong’s grin stretched a bit wider. “Everything.”

 

“You’re being really weird tonight. Weirder than usual.”

 

He snorted. “Thanks.”

 

Seunghyun shifted, lifting himself up onto his hands, and he blinked down at Jiyong with his lips quirked in amusement. “Any particular reason why?”

 

“Yeah,” Jiyong admitted softly. He leaned forward, brushing a kiss against Seunghyun’s mouth. For now, that was all he would give him, because he wasn’t ready for the rest. Because tonight had already been overwhelming enough and he still had a lot to process.

 

But then an idea struck him and he did laugh, expression brightening as he kissed Seunghyun a little more firmly.

 

“Actually, hold on a sec. I’ll be right back.”

 

Sliding out from under him, Jiyong clambered off the couch and ran into the kitchen. He could hear Seunghyun’s chuckling from the living room and his heart skipped--anxious from what he was about to do and what it meant. Jiyong tore through the junk drawer next to the fridge, searching for the key ring he’d stashed there the last time he made duplicates, and when his fingers closed around the cold metal, his heart skipped again.

 

 _Wow, okay, chill._ He pushed a hand into his hair and inhaled deeply, closing the drawer with his hip. Jiyong really didn’t need to be freaking out about this as much as he was. It was nothing. Okay, it wasn’t nothing, it was actually a lot of things, but it’s not like he was asking Seunghyun to fucking marry him.

 

Jiyong froze there in the kitchen, the light from above the stove glinting against the shiny metal in his hand. His brain stumbled to a halt as that thought lingered strangely before vanishing and he let all the air in his lungs spill from his mouth in a single rush.

 

“Everything okay in here?” Seunghyun asked, shuffling into the room with his hands in his pockets.

 

Wide-eyed, Jiyong looked over at him, fingers clamping around the keys as he nodded.

 

“Yeah. Yeah, everything’s fine,” he answered, perhaps too quickly.

 

Seunghyun eyed him with suspicion and perched on the edge of the kitchen table. “Jiyong, what’s going on?”

 

“This.”

 

Jiyong wasn’t about to dance around formalities, arm already held out as he walked towards him. Seunghyun’s brows furrowed again when he peered at the keys in his palm but made no move to take them. So Jiyong huffed out a laugh and manually removed one of Seunghyun’s hands from his pockets and did it himself, curling the boy’s fingers around them tightly.

 

“They’re keys to the apartment,” he explained when Seunghyun looked up, clearly still confused. Jiyong dipped his head and slid the edge of his thumb over Seunghyun’s knuckles, that giddy sort of feeling still terrorizing his insides, and he breathed in slowly to calm himself. “It’s so you can come here whenever you want, even when I’m not around. Or my sister. I just-- I want you to know that you have options. That you have somewhere to go when things are shitty. Somewhere that isn’t the middle of nowhere.”

 

_Somewhere that feels like home._

 

He could tell that Seunghyun was staring at him, but he stubbornly refused to meet his gaze, not sure he was prepared for what he might find. Nervous energy swirled in his chest. Though the longer Seunghyun sat there and didn’t respond, the more Jiyong wondered if maybe he’d overstepped his boundaries, and he kept talking so he wouldn’t start panicking.

 

“I mean, you practically live here, anyway, right? So it’s not that big of a deal, I just figured you--”

 

But then there were fingers gripping his chin, Seunghyun’s mouth crashing into his mouth, and a surprised moan vibrated in his throat.

 

Seunghyun pulled him closer, looping an arm around his waist. The kiss was rough and without form, but Jiyong felt it in more than just his lips, the intense sensation zipping through him like an electrical current. It was incredible. Dizzying. And he clung to Seunghyun’s shoulders in an attempt to find balance. Which was difficult, especially once Seunghyun’s tongue began teasing at his mouth and Jiyong broke away with a smile. He laughed, the sound of it filling the kitchen when Seunghyun refused to stop kissing him, his own smile trailing along Jiyong’s neck.

 

“If this is your way of saying ‘thank you’--” he gasped, giggling as Seunghyun’s tongue swept over his pulse point. “--I’m gonna start gifting you shit for no reason.”

 

“Like I need an excuse to kiss you,” Seunghyun murmured into his skin.

 

Jiyong shivered a little, arching against him and savoring the way Seunghyun’s breath seeped in through his t-shirt. He may not have needed an excuse, but some kisses spoke for themselves more loudly than others and Jiyong couldn’t help but want to listen to that one on repeat for the rest of his life.

 

“Actually,” Seunghyun sighed and leaned back to look him in the eye. “I don’t--” He paused abruptly, flashing Jiyong a brief grin as his fingers clenched in Jiyong’s shirt. “I don’t think even saying it is enough. Not for something like this, I--”

 

“So don’t,” Jiyong interrupted, hands lifting to frame his face. “Just promise me you’ll use them.”

 

The hold around his waist tightened and Seunghyun let out another unsteady breath, lips twitching as he nodded.

 

“Okay. I promise.”

 

Jiyong swallowed thickly, riding the swoop in his stomach as they gazed at each other. He hadn’t intended for this to be so intense, but it was. Like everything he felt in that moment was suddenly trying to break free all at once. He was relatively certain Seunghyun could see it, the light in his eyes only shining brighter, and Jiyong smiled. Because he knew what that was now. And even though it would always be scary, Seunghyun always made it okay. Made him feel brave.

 

A yawn split his jaw wide and he tipped forward, his forehead resting against Seunghyun’s as total exhaustion finally sunk in.

 

“Bed?” Jiyong asked, still smiling.

 

“Bed.” Seunghyun nodded again with a yawn of his own. He laughed, pressing a tired kiss to Jiyong’s cheek as he stood, and then dragged them both from the kitchen. “By the way, you never told me what was so funny earlier.”

 

Snorting, Jiyong shut the door of his room behind them. “It can be your bedtime story.”

 

“ _Hell yeah_ ,” came Seunghyun’s muffled cheer as he pulled his hoodie over his head, hair everywhere once he resurfaced, this goofy-ass grin tugging at his lips.

 

But Jiyong just rolled his eyes and shoved him down on the mattress while he was in the middle of taking his jeans off, ignoring his cackles and whines of protest. He flicked the light off, undressed, and chuckled as he crawled in after him--heart spinning in circles when Seunghyun immediately latched onto him like a sleepy, affectionate octopus and never let go.

  



	12. Chapter 12

New Years Day unfolded just like any other day--just like Jiyong had expected it to.

 

Except that wasn’t quite accurate, was it? Because despite everything seeming exactly the same, he knew something had changed. Knew, because he was starting to notice the brighter layers, the ones usually hidden underneath all the dirt and grime that he’d buried them in. And as he stood there, leaning on the lunch counter at Frankie’s, observing the mid-morning light that slanted through the windows, dust swirling amidst the beams...he wondered if he’d ever have the balls to wipe it all clean.

 

“You’ve been awfully quiet today,” Seunghyun murmured then, nudging into him gently from where he sat on one of the stools, reading.

 

Jiyong blinked his thoughts away and turned, offering him a slow smile.

 

“I’ve had a lot to think about.”

 

The arch of Seunghyun’s brow was a dead giveaway. So much louder and more obvious than his stupid “Oh?” of mild interest, like Jiyong was talking about how magnificent the weather was, and he rolled his eyes, leaning closer to pin him with a pointed look.

 

“Do you seriously wanna have a philosophical conversation before your second cup of coffee?” he asked, unable to disguise his amusement.

 

Seunghyun met his challenge with a smirk. “No time like the present.”

 

But, of course, the moment Jiyong contemplated giving in, gaze helplessly drawn to the curl of Seunghyun’s mouth, Aaron’s voice cut through the diner like a fucking guillotine, punctuated by the cheerful ping of the kitchen bell.

 

“Ji, your order’s up!”

 

“Literally saved by the bell,” Seunghyun drawled.

 

Shrugging, Jiyong just sighed. “Sucks for you.”

 

“Like you don’t already know that I’m gonna ask again in about five minutes.”

 

He grinned, laughing lightly as Seunghyun stared--open and with the kind of easy affection that always made him weak in the knees. So it wasn’t exactly surprising that he succumbed to impulse, easing further into Seunghyun’s space and pressing a kiss to his lips without closing his eyes. Jiyong’s stomach tumbled in curlicues when Seunghyun didn’t close his eyes, either, the boy’s long lashes dipping ever so slightly as his fingers latched onto Jiyong’s apron and tugged.

 

This was the most they’d ever done with an audience, save for last night’s little adventure in the parking lot, and he felt a familiar rush of invincible energy in his veins. Fearlessness. Confidence. He didn’t even care if anyone was paying attention, he just needed the playful bump of Seunghyun’s nose--the softness of Seunghyun’s bottom lip nestled perfectly between his own, their matching smiles mashed together when neither of them could keep a straight face anymore.

 

“Jiyong!” Aaron shouted a second time, actually sounding irritated.

 

Jiyong let out a pronounced groan and withdrew, squeezing Seunghyun’s hand as he removed it from his waist and pushed off from the counter. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, trudging towards the service window, scowling. “Y’know, I’m pretty sure you don’t have the tenure to boss me around, Aaron.”

 

The older man scoffed.

 

“Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure you’re not being paid to stand there making out with your boyfriend.”

 

 _So that’s what crawled up your ass_ , Jiyong mused, grabbing the first plate and balancing it on his right arm.

 

“Does PDA offend you or something?” he asked coyly, unable to prevent a knowing smirk.

 

Aaron cleared his throat, eyes narrowing as he frowned, the defensiveness radiating from his stiff posture in waves.

 

“No.”

 

Jiyong cocked his head, reaching for the next plate, and tried not to laugh. “Mmm, I believe I detect a hint of jealousy there, Aaron.”

 

Honestly, he’d never seen someone’s face catch fire so fast before in his life.

 

“Oh, shut up,” Aaron growled, the annoyance half as effective when he was impersonating a very handsome tomato. He dropped the last of the order down on the window, tower of pancakes wobbling with the force of it. “Take your goddamn plates and go, you little shit.”

 

He cackled brightly at that, head falling backwards as he struggled to keep the food balanced in his arms. “Anna,” Jiyong called over his shoulder, wheezing. “Aaron is blushing, enjoy it while it lasts.”

 

“Oh my _god_.”

 

Another burst of laughter exploded from his mouth and he snagged the plate of pancakes, turning to round the counter.

 

“You’re welcome,” he called again.

 

Jiyong’s cheeks ached and his stomach hurt and he had tears clinging to the corners of his eyes, and god it felt good. Like the way that everything settled around him finally felt _right_. And he marveled at the magic of stupid shit and inside jokes and being surrounded by people he actually gave a fuck about. He supposed what was even more remarkable was that he finally gave a fuck in the first place.

 

Residual giggles kept convulsing out of him and he apologized to the customers when he could barely form a complete sentence, let alone ask them if they needed anything else, and was waved off by a flurry of amused hands. Jiyong scrubbed at his face, deciding, officially, that today couldn’t get any better.

 

Well, right up until he spun on his heel to find none other than Dami and Colin lingering near the doors. Jiyong hadn’t even heard the bell jingle.

 

 _Fuck_.

 

Talk about a buzzkill. _I am so not ready for this_. He chewed at his lip, wiping both hands on his apron and hazarding a glance at Seunghyun. Jiyong was surprised, but relieved, that the boy had been watching and he desperately drew some of that confidence from the wordless encouragement in his eyes. Taking a steadying breath, he turned back to his sister and Colin and began walking towards them.

 

It had only been a couple weeks, not even, since that day at school when he’d let his mouth run. And Jiyong knew now that he’d beaten himself up more than enough over something that wasn’t really that terrible, but the vaguely nervous look on Colin’s face still made him hate himself for being such a dick to begin with. All he had to do was fucking apologize. Then everything would be fine again.

 

 _Right_. Jiyong sighed. _Easy as pie_.

 

Though the smile that crept onto Dami’s face as he approached was warm and sweet and he relaxed a bit, his own lips tugging upwards at the corners when she didn’t even bother saying hello, just immediately drew him in for a hug.

 

“Long time no see,” she murmured, squeezing him tighter.

 

For them, a week without crossing paths was nothing, but for some reason it seemed like twice as much since Christmas.

 

“Yeah,” Jiyong replied, pushing his face into the waves of her hair. “Missed you, too.”

 

Dami leaned away and brought her hands to his cheeks, one moving to brush the messy chunks of his bangs away from his forehead, eyes thoughtful. There was so much left unspoken between them, but he appreciated that they could still be nice to each other despite that. Despite the long overdue argument he knew was coming. She looked good, though. Cheerful. And he suspected the man standing next to her had a lot to do with it.

 

“How are you?” Dami asked quietly and let her arms drop.

 

“Good.” Jiyong nodded. “You?”

 

“Good,” she replied, eyes crinkling with humor as she turned briefly to Colin, her cheeks going pink.

 

It was weird as hell to see her like this. Just on the verge of dizzy schoolgirl. Something Jiyong vaguely remembered from when he was a kid and Dami first started dating.

 

“What, um--” He paused and coughed into his fist awkwardly. “What are you guys doing here?”

 

Folding her arms across her chest, she put on a serious face and shrugged. “I had an intense craving for home fries.”

 

“I expect visiting me was a bit lower on that list of reasons.”

 

“Oh, yeah, super low. You’re like, number five or six?” Dami stopped to think for a moment. “Somewhere below coffee, pancakes, and bacon.”

 

Jiyong snorted. “I’m glad I know where your loyalties lie now.”

 

“Food always trumps family, Ji,” she sighed, reaching up to pat him on the shoulder.

 

“Mmm, how could I forget.”

 

The mask cracked then and she smirked, giving in to a huff of embarrassed laughter, and Jiyong couldn’t help but smile back as he rolled his eyes. They were so fucking dumb.

 

“So, I think I’m gonna go grab a booth and give you two a moment.”

 

Colin shifted uneasily in his periphery, reminding him that the worst was far from over, and Dami gripped his shoulder again before she beat a hasty retreat. _Great_. Jiyong’d had a feeling she was going to abandon him without remorse. Sometimes he honestly hated being right.

 

Fingers jittery and clueless at his sides, he finally met Colin’s gaze head on, heart skipping a beat out of apprehension. The man’s expression was cautious but clearly hopeful and he offered Jiyong a hesitant smile.

 

“Hey, Ji.”

 

Jiyong bobbed his head, chewing at his lip. “Hey, Col.”

 

“Keepin’ out of trouble, I see.” Colin’s smile grew broad as he motioned to his own face.

 

He laughed, tossing a glance over his shoulder to look at Seunghyun. “Different kind of trouble,” he murmured and was surprised when he felt heat in his cheeks. Worse, when Colin’s green eyes took on a teasing glimmer.

 

But then the nervous laughter faded and Jiyong still didn’t know how to go about making amends. Not like it was rocket science. He sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck.

 

“Listen, I’m sorry about…” His hand circled through the air as he tried to keep his attention on Colin and not everywhere else. The older man nodded, mouth twisting in acknowledgement. Jiyong soldiered on. “It was a shit day that only got shittier and it was a knee-jerk reaction. You didn’t deserve that. Not--” he stopped, letting out another heavy breath. “Not from me.”

 

Colin took his time to answer, seeming to mull over his words while regarding Jiyong calmly.

 

“I didn’t mean to pry, y’know?” Colin explained. His eyebrows furrowed and he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Was just concerned about you, is all.”

 

Jiyong nodded. “I know. I’m an asshole.”

 

Colin’s laugh was short but sunny and he freed a hand to hold up his index finger and thumb. “Lil bit,” he chuckled.

 

There was no denying that he deserved the ribbing, unable to prevent a grin at his own expense. Honestly, he was just glad that things were squared now. Maybe it would take them a while to be easy like they used to, but at least they were cool.

 

“And you don’t--” Jiyong faltered again. “You don’t have to be afraid to talk to me anymore. I’m sure Dami’s explained more than a few things.”

 

“Yeah, she has.”

 

He swallowed thickly, not as afraid of this as he once was, but still getting accustomed to the idea of discussing it. Or almost discussing it. Jiyong shrugged.

 

“It’s not an excuse, it’s just...what it is. And I’m learning.”

 

Colin smiled kindly at him, rocking onto his heels. “Me, too.”

 

Biting the inside of his mouth, Jiyong folded his arms and squinted at the older man.

 

“So you’re really serious about this whole dating my sister thing, huh?” he asked, brow quirked.

 

“I am, yeah,” Colin replied, squinting right back.

 

“Good.” He sniffed. “Cause if you ever hurt her, I will not hesitate to clock you in the face.”

 

And he fucking meant it, too--hoped that was more than evident in his hardened expression. Colin’s own expression turned kind of serious then, never backing down from Jiyong’s unwavering gaze, and when he opened his mouth to speak, his voice was quiet. Sincere.

 

“Duly noted.”

 

“Jiyong!” The call of Aaron’s voice cut through the diner, breaking the tension and the moment and Jiyong rolled his eyes. Again.

 

“Um, I gotta--” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

 

Colin’s grin split his face in two, stepping forward to knock Jiyong with his elbow.

 

“Go on, asshole.”

 

“Oh, fuck off,” Jiyong grumbled, more laughter spilling out of him.

 

And just like that, they were back to their old bullshit.

 

It was funny, in hindsight, that he’d ever had a problem with Colin being more of a permanent fixture. Or thought that he’d ever had a choice in the matter. And as he watched the older man wander towards the booth Dami had chosen, he felt relief. Because Colin really was a good guy. And if they needed anything in their life to stick, it was shit like that. The good stuff.

 

“Are you gonna stand there all day or are you gonna get to work, Kwon?”

 

 _I swear to god_.

 

Turning, Jiyong caught Aaron giving him a look and he stuck his tongue out, just barely curbing the impulse to flip him off as he walked over. Ceramic rattled loudly on the service counter, Anna exhaling roughly beside him in silent commiseration while they waited for their food. He kind of just wanted his shift to be done, because the lunch rush was starting and now he had to hustle. Jiyong delivered his plates, took more orders, seated more than one family of four and made rounds with the coffee pots before he had a chance to stop for ten goddamn seconds. And when he did, he went straight for Seunghyun, nearly toppling him from the stool when he latched onto the other boy--chin on his shoulder and arms flung around his waist, already exhausted.

 

“Hi.”

 

Seunghyun chuckled. “Hi.”

 

The noises of the diner swelled and he buried his face in Seunghyun’s shoulder to hide. But of course Aaron’s voice always cut through everything else like a knife.

 

“Jiyong!”

 

“I’m gonna kill him,” he groaned.

 

“I’ll help you hide the body.”

 

Giggling, Jiyong sighed and lifted his head. “It’s cute that you’re still trying to convince me you’re an axe-murdering psychopath,” he murmured.

 

Seunghyun swiveled around on his stool and pecked him on the cheek, smirking. “You’ll never know the truth until it’s too late.”

 

Arms falling to his sides, Jiyong backed away, his mouth twitching helplessly at the corners. He carried the giddy swirling with him for the rest of the afternoon and thanked his lucky stars that he’d been blessed with the enduring affection of multiple idiots.

  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  


As their final week of freedom dwindled, the days passing far too quickly, Jiyong found that he had difficulty sleeping. All that remained now was a single weekend. One. That was it. And it gnawed at him. Though due to his completely pointless suspension, his winter break would be prolonged for a few more days. Which never made any sense to him, because being _in_ school was always the punishment, not sitting at home on his ass.

 

Hunching further into the worn dip of the recliner, Jiyong tucked a cigarette between his teeth and scowled, staring out the living room window. Dawn was turning the sky a lighter shade of somber. He lit his cigarette and inhaled--watched plumes of smoke coil in the hazy twilight when he breathed out.

 

It had been far too effortless, the way Jiyong had shoved aside reality for two weeks. A certain boy currently passed out in his bed was mostly to blame, but he would be lying if he said he hadn’t wrapped himself up in the dream on purpose. Except now the dream was over and responsibility loomed large.

 

Head tipped against the back of the chair, he took another drag. It wasn’t the only thing looming, however, and he fought against the never ending cycle of anxiety-inducing thoughts, all revolving around how fucked everything was.

 

Jiyong heard a yawn from his doorway then, Seunghyun shuffling into the room looking five thousand kinds of adorable in his rumpled shirt and boxers--hair a mess, eyes barely even open.

 

 _Well, almost everything_. He smiled.

 

“What’re you doing out here?” Seunghyun rumbled, voice scratchy and tired.

 

“I didn’t wanna wake you up.”

 

Migrating around the bulk of the couch, Seunghyun ambled closer, unceremoniously pushing Jiyong’s bent knees apart before turning and collapsing on top of him.

 

“Jesus,” he grunted, laughing as Seunghyun squirmed until he was comfortable. “You’re not exactly weightless, fuckin’ beanpole.”

 

“And you’re light as a feather, right?” Seunghyun muttered, lazily snatching the cigarette from Jiyong’s fingers.

 

Then the jerk hooked one gangly leg over the arm of the chair, fused with the contours of Jiyong’s body, squishing him in the process. He snorted and supposed there were definitely worse places to be.

 

“Why aren’t you still unconscious?” Jiyong asked, coiling an arm around him.

 

Seunghyun took a drag and handed the cigarette back, head lolling against his shoulder.

 

“It’s stupid.”

 

“Nightmare?”

 

“I mean stupid as in cheesy,” Seunghyun clarified.

 

He let out a slight chuckle. “You’re always cheesy.”

 

“This is cheesier than normal.”

 

“Seunghyun, I’ve recited poetry for you.”

 

“Because you’re a freak. Who does that?”

 

“Stop evading the question.” Jiyong started prodding him in the stomach, but Seunghyun just snatched his hand and held it captive, the other reaching back to steal the cigarette again.

 

For several minutes, Seunghyun was quiet, rocking them gently back and forth with the foot planted on the floor. He didn’t really know if he should be concerned or not. So he waited.

 

Bringing his other arm up to loop it around the boy’s middle, Jiyong buried his face into dark hair and relaxed. He wondered if he was getting better at this, being a source of comfort. His thumb rubbed at the curve of Seunghyun’s waist idly, mind calmer now that it had a purpose, and he squeezed the hand holding his.

 

Cigarette burned down to the filter, Seunghyun stubbed it out in the ashtray beside them and sighed. “Sleeping alone just feels weird, okay?” he murmured, pushing his fingers between Jiyong’s. “Even when I’m out cold, it’s like I know you’re not there.”

 

Jiyong’s mouth stretched wide. Seunghyun sounded so earnest, voice small like he was revealing a secret. His insides wobbled as a result and his chest went impossibly tight. Words that weren’t his came to mind at the confession, and he tried to keep his composure as he bent low, brushing his lips against the side of the boy’s neck--nose dragging along a sharp jaw and a smooth cheek, lips poised at his ear.

 

“It’s good to feel you are close to me in the night, love,” Jiyong whispered, because Neruda was forever appropriate, and he kept going despite the way Seunghyun was vibrating with silent laughter.

 

“Invisible in your sleep, intently nocturnal, while I untangle my worries as if they were twisted nets. Withdrawn, your heart sails through dream. But your body, relinquished so, breathes, seeking me without seeing me perfecting my dream like a plant that seeds itself in the dark.”

 

He felt Seunghyun inhale and exhale slowly before he turned his head, meeting Jiyong’s gaze.

 

“Seriously, how do you do that?”

 

He shrugged. “Some things are worth keeping.”

 

The relevance of that statement didn’t really sink in until he’d said it out loud and let it hover for a moment. Seunghyun’s responding smile was soft, eyes warm even in the pale morning light. Jiyong could tell by the look he was being given that the boy was right there with him on whatever bizarre wavelength this was. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation, maybe it was something else. But when Seunghyun shifted into him, even his mouth seemed heavy with understanding, and Jiyong’s brows furrowed when he kissed him back.

 

Sometimes, he imagined each moment--every smile, every exchanged breath, every single touch fleeting and sustained--was a thread that stitched them together. Not in the sense of parts becoming whole. More like they were anchored to each other. Balanced. And Jiyong could feel it happening now as Seunghyun’s hand raised to cradle his face, that faint tugging at his center, that sense of connection that he never knew how to describe.

 

Leaning away, Seunghyun’s lips twitched, dimples digging shadows into his cheeks.

 

“Will you go somewhere with me today?”

 

Jiyong nodded.

 

“But I have a shift at three.”

 

“That’s fine. It won’t take forever.” Seunghyun paused, smile dimming. “We have to drive, though.”

 

“How far?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound too hesitant.

 

“Further than usual.”

 

Jiyong laughed and bit the inside of his cheek, eyes narrowed, contemplative. It’s not that he didn’t want to. It was that extended trips in the car were usually on the stressful side and he wasn’t sure if he was up for it. Although this seemed important to Seunghyun. He never said it, but Jiyong heard it in his voice.

 

“Okay,” he answered eventually.

 

Both of Seunghyun’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re sure?”

 

“Yeah.” Jiyong nudged into his palm. “I’m sure.”

 

Expression brightening in small increments, Seunghyun slid his fingers into Jiyong’s hair and pulled him in again, teasing at his mouth. He huffed out another laugh, pushing closer to firmly mold their lips together.

 

“Wait, is your sister here?” Seunghyun mumbled, withdrawing a second later.

 

“No, she spent the night at Colin’s.”

 

“Ooooh.”

 

“I know,” Jiyong drawled. “I feel like a proud mother.”

 

Seunghyun cracked up, head falling back onto his arm. In some ways it was hilarious, and in others it was sort of terrifying. He hadn’t really allowed himself to think about it too much in order to preserve his sanity, but as long as Dami was happy, he could deal with the weirdness until it wasn’t so weird anymore.

 

Jiyong grinned as he watched Seunghyun come down from his giggle fit, rubbing at his trembling stomach. Once he’d caught his breath, though, the gleam in the boy’s eye took on a slight edge, and Jiyong’s heart skipped more than one beat.

 

“So…” Seunghyun trailed off, fingers lifting to map the curve of his cheek. “We have the apartment to ourselves.”

 

Heat began crawling across his skin when he realized exactly what he was getting at. “Yes,” Jiyong whispered.

 

“Perfect.”

 

Without much warning, Seunghyun surged forward to kiss him, like he was on a mission to short-circuit his brain as quickly as possible. And it was working. Because Jiyong could hardly process anything beyond suddenly needing the space between them to be less than it already was--thigh clamping securely around Seunghyun’s hip while they twisted in on each other, hand stealing under the boy’s shirt, a low moan resonating in his throat.

 

Jiyong’s lips parted and his tongue eased into Seunghyun’s mouth, hyper-aware of the way he was arching his body. They’d done this enough times that he knew what it meant and he dragged his fingers over Seunghyun’s stomach to slip them into the waistband of his boxers.

 

Seunghyun gasped when Jiyong gripped his cock, hips rolling. “ _Fuck_.”

 

There was something seriously intoxicating about making Seunghyun feel good, and even though they hadn’t graduated beyond blowjobs and jerking each other off, he still craved this kind of intimacy. Especially now that he understood how addictive it was to touch someone who wanted you as much as you wanted them. Stroking again, Jiyong eagerly drank in Seunghyun’s stuttered exhale and nipped at his mouth, gradually bringing him to full hardness.

 

Arousal simmered in his veins, his own hips rocking every now and then with the movement of the boy’s body. Their kisses lost form, lips sliding wet and lazy. Seunghyun tossed an arm back to loop it around Jiyong and he felt so tangled up in this, in how it always got so intense so fast.

 

Eyes screwed shut, Seunghyun tensed, his jaw hanging open as he groaned quietly and then shuddered through orgasm. Jiyong held tight, wanting every shiver that passed through him, savoring the hot breath puffing against his skin when Seunghyun turned to mouth at his neck, making him shiver too. His grip loosened, but he didn’t stop stroking, just lightly ran his fingers up and down Seunghyun’s cock until he went soft. Because he loved how Seunghyun fit in his hand. Loved the way his hips kept rolling and the way he transformed into a pliant, human blob immediately after.

 

Jiyong smiled, nuzzling at Seunghyun’s face. He took his hand out of the boy’s underwear and wiped it clean, curling around him again.

 

“One out of ten,” he mumbled, chuckling at Seunghyun’s dazed grin when he opened his eyes.

 

“Eleven.”

 

“I guess all that practice finally paid off,” Jiyong mused wryly.

 

Dark eyes sparkled a bit brighter. “You can practice on me whenever you want.”

 

“ _Mhmm_.”

 

Like they even needed the excuse. They couldn’t keep their hands to themselves as it was, and his smile grew at the fingers that wandered along his leg, breath hitching when they pushed the fabric of his boxers higher, massaging his thigh.

 

“Shower?” Seunghyun proposed, casually drawing Jiyong’s bottom lip into his mouth.

 

He ground his hips forward and nodded dumbly, the feeling of long fingers squeezing harder sending all manner of electric jolts through his gut.

 

It was another five minutes before either of them thought about moving, but Jiyong’s needy sighs had become ragged, and Seunghyun hauled him out of the recliner, laughing as they stumbled into the bathroom. The water turned on, clothes were piled on the floor. Seunghyun kissed him against the tiles until he couldn’t think at all, those wonderful lips traveling down his body as the boy dropped to his knees. He shoved his hands into Seunghyun’s hair, eyelids hooded while he watched a slick tongue dart out to lave at the head of his cock, collecting precome. Then he was enveloped in wet heat and Jiyong moaned, stomach clenching, anticipation fluttering everywhere.

 

Seunghyun caressed the backs of his thighs and stared up at him through thick lashes while he worked, lips already swollen and red from being kissed, and Jiyong just lost it, curling forward while he fisted clumps of damp hair.

 

“Jesus fuck, I’m gonna--” he whined, moaning louder when Seunghyun started to knead at his ass and sucked harder.

 

The pressure increased and then unraveled as he climaxed--hips pumping unevenly to ride out the rush of sensations. Seunghyun let him keep fucking his mouth until he was spent and he slumped back into the wall, yanking at the boy’s hands, needing him to stand.

 

“Come here,” Jiyong panted.

 

He grabbed Seunghyun by the face and they collided under the humid spray of the shower, his heart beating wildly in his chest and a solid mass of “I love you”s in his throat that he knew he couldn’t keep locked away for much longer. But Seunghyun just held him close and smiled against his lips and it was enough.

  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  


Blankets of dirty snow clung to the ground, caking barren tree branches, weighing down the evergreens. The roads were clear, though, and for that Jiyong was thankful, because they’d been in the car for almost an hour and he was getting restless. Music floated from the speakers, loud enough to distract him when he got tired of looking at what seemed like the same goddamned stretch of farmland on an endless loop. Sighing, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the weird tapestry of sounds filling the car instead.

 

“You have the strangest taste in music.”

 

Jiyong heard a quiet huff.

 

“I can change it if you want.”

 

“No, I like it,” he mumbled. “But where the fuck do you even find this shit?”

 

“The internet is a magical place,” Seunghyun replied, smile in his voice. Then a hand landed on Jiyong’s thigh and squeezed. “We’re almost there, I promise.”

 

Before Seunghyun could draw back, Jiyong caught hold of him, slipping his fingers between the boy’s larger ones. He opened his eyes and stared out the window and didn’t let go until Seunghyun needed both hands to drive.

 

They were on a smaller highway, one of those back roads that cut through the country like a thin, winding vein. Nothing for miles. Eerily still. Seunghyun pulled onto a dirt road next to a field and drove for several minutes before he stopped at a cluster of trees, parking in the middle where there were already tire tracks carved in the frozen dirt.

 

“This is how far you had to go to be alone?” Jiyong asked, undoing his seatbelt.

 

“Sometimes more.” Seunghyun shrugged and cut the engine. “This spot is the best, though.”

 

He climbed out, absently shutting the passenger side door while he peered up at the web of spindly branches, breath clouding his vision. “Why?”

 

Footsteps crunched behind him, hands finding his shoulders and guiding him backwards.

 

“Because if you sit right here…” Seunghyun spun Jiyong around, flashing him a smile and then lifting him up to deposit him on the trunk of the car. He turned to point at the horizon. “You can’t see the road, you can’t see houses or barns or silos. No powerlines. Just earth and trees forever.”

 

The boy exhaled, turning back, easing between Jiyong’s legs. His eyes glittered even in the dull winter light as he eased closer. “But usually I wear my headphones so I can’t hear the cars passing.”

 

“That’s kind of intense,” Jiyong murmured.

 

“Yeah,” Seunghyun laughed. “I dunno, I like feeling isolated, even when it freaks me out.”

 

Reaching up, he framed Seunghyun’s face, thumbs sweeping over the swell of his cheekbones. Sometimes it messed with his head when he thought about how similar they were, even in their differences. How strange it was that they’d even found each other. How much had changed since they did.

 

“I know what you mean,” he replied.

 

“That’s why I thought it might be nice to step away for a minute. Before we have to go back to the circus.”

 

Seunghyun’s mouth slanted wryly and Jiyong chuckled, currently disinclined to imagine what special kind of hell going back to school would be. He hadn’t even wasted any energy thinking about Victor and the idea of having to deal with the jackass again made him want to punch something. But he didn’t let the frustration own him, the gentle nudge of Seunghyun’s nose against his enough to keep him here. Enough to ground him. Jiyong tipped forward, pressing a firm kiss to soft lips. Seunghyun wrapped his arms around Jiyong’s waist and for a while he let himself drown in it--the odd hush, the sharp cold biting his skin, feeling like they were only living things left in the world.

 

Later, they both sat on the trunk and smoked, looking out at the desolate landscape, talking and not talking. He appreciated how natural it was for them to sit there together and not say a word. That it was okay to be silent. Okay to keep some thoughts to himself and give voice to others. But there was one topic in particular that still lingered heavily on his mind and as he played with Seunghyun’s fingers, he decided not talking about it wasn’t going to do him any good.

 

“Seunghyun,” Jiyong spoke up, drawing his attention away from dark tree branches. “What made you change your mind about helping me with Dami?”

 

Because finally having someone who was on _his_ side in this argument was like a fucking dream come true. Seunghyun sighed and regarded him intently for several moments, expression pensive.

 

"I realized that we're different people and that just because I think a certain way doesn't mean you should too.” Seunghyun’s eyebrow quirked and he took a drag from his cigarette. “Mind blowing stuff, right?"

 

Laughing slightly, Jiyong nodded. “Yeah.”

 

“You feel how you feel,” the boy continued, looking away again. “Which is good, because you give me perspective, and I guess I just want you to be happy. Being in school obviously doesn’t do that.”

 

His smile faded and he stared at Seunghyun’s profile, stunned beyond measure. The words had been simple but spoken so matter-of-factly. With the kind of certainty he rarely claimed for himself. Jiyong breathed shallowly, not sure how to react and sort of just really overwhelmed in general. Which was nothing new at this point. And now it seemed as if his entire body was connected to countless threads, drawing him near. Like gravity. Something inevitable and absolute.

 

With a flick of his wrist, Seunghyun sent his cigarette butt flying into a pile of muddy snow and then turned back. He smiled, bashful from the scrutiny. “What?”

 

“I--” Jiyong blurted and cut himself off, averting his gaze to concentrate on their hands. How did he explain this? Did he even know what the fuck he was about to say? Closing his eyes, he inhaled and just opened his mouth and let whatever wanted to fall out, fall out.

 

“I dunno, it’s surreal, being with you and listening to you speak. Like you’re some kind of hallucination that I cooked up one night after taking too many hits to the face . Because sometimes--most of the time--I think I don’t deserve you. But the way I...the way I feel, about you, the way you make me feel, it’s--” Jiyong huffed in amusement and nerves, tilting back to stare at the gray sky, shaking his head. “This is seriously the cheesiest thing I’ll ever say, but there’s nothing more real than that.”

 

The fingers in his held fast and he didn’t stop staring at the wall of clouds until he had the courage to see exactly what gross sentiment would be exploding from those stupid fucking eyes. That he loved. Because he was an idiot.

 

Jiyong felt Seunghyun lean into him then--felt the heat of his breath as he touched his forehead to Jiyong’s temple.

 

“You know I love you, right?” came the low whisper.

 

He grit his teeth, chest aching. _Not gonna cry, not gonna cry_. Except tears had begun to pool at the corners of his eyes anyway.

 

“Yeah,” Jiyong choked, throat so tight. _God, I hate this_.

 

But that was a lie. Just like he couldn’t keep pretending that he hadn’t given his heart away months ago.

 

Releasing a heavy sigh, he finally looked down, shifting so that his face was resting against Seunghyun’s. “How did you get to be so important?” he asked.

 

Seunghyun broke out into a grin, giddy laughter warm on Jiyong’s lips. “I could ask you the same thing.”

 

“Jesus, shut up,” he whined and sniffled, shoving at the boy’s shoulder. “I love your dumb ass too much already. Don’t make it worse.”

 

More laughter followed, Seunghyun dragging them from the car so he could pull Jiyong in for a bear hug, the two of them tottering off balance on the uneven soil. Frozen air hurt his lungs when he started giggling. Seunghyun walked them in circles and Jiyong burrowed into his neck, fingers clenched in the fabric of his coat, dizzy, alive.

 

If there was one thing he wanted to make sure he never forgot, it was now.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: forgot to credit the poem, oops."it's good to feel you are close to me" belongs to pablo neruda, i own nothing.


End file.
